langlocked lurid
by esquitor
Summary: the one where allen walker puts up with draco malfoy trying to recruit him into his little gang, and his uncle neah campbell tries not to drink himself into a stupor before cross gets to hogwarts. meanwhile, sirius black hunts a rat. [vatican ministry!dgm. slytherin!allen. OCs. book 3 timeline. DGM-centric with adapted plot arcs.]
1. knut for your thoughts?

i have no idea where i'm going with this but here's a shot at past tense dgm/hp fic, ready set go

(art can be found on my tumblr esquitor because of course it can)

* * *

 **1: knut for your thoughts?**

* * *

The first time Harry saw the boy called Allen Walker-Campbell, it was during the sorting ceremony in his third year.

There had been rumors in the train about a fourth year transferee being in the sorting ceremony. He found this hard to believe. Even Hermione had said nothing like that had ever happened before in the entire Wizarding history. Nothing that was written down.

The boy who walked up to the Sorting Hat had hair so pale, Harry almost mistook him for Malfoy. Probably a him. Allen was a boy's name, wasn't it?

"What's he from again?" he whispered to Hermione.

"Vatican City," she said without taking her eyes away. "Rose Cross Institute. Honestly, Harry, weren't you paying attention?"

"Sorry. Just thinking about... stuff."

That got her to look at him, and Ron too, since Ron wasn't paying attention anyway.

"About what happened on the train?" she asked softly, clearly worried.

"Among other things," Harry said, making sure no one else could hear them. Though it was pointless now that Malfoy knew, too.

"Hang on," Ron suddenly cut in. "Isn't Vatican City in Italy? I thought Hogwarts didn't take students from that far off."

Hermione nearly beamed. "You _do_ pay attention sometimes!"

"...Was that _really_ necessary, Hermione?"

"Sorry. But you're right, you know. There's other wizarding schools closer to Italy. France, for example. That's why everyone _else_ is so interested!"

Looking around, Harry found that she was right. Everyone else _was_ looking at the newcomer. He wondered if it was because of the hair.

"What d'you reckon he uses to get his hair that color?" Ron asked. "It's whiter than anyone's I've seen. Except maybe Malfoy's dad. Think his parents let him do that?"

The Dursley's would've never let Harry change his hair color that much. He stuck out enough as it is whenever they were forced to take him with them out of the house. Or maybe they would, and then they'd have something else to hold over his head.

"Has to be colored. Even Dumbledore's got some gray in his beard, this bloke's all white. Like snow."

"Poetic, Ronald."

"I bet I could see him in the dark!"

Hermione gave him a look of long-suffering and turned back to where the Sorting Hat was still deliberating over one thing or another at the end of the Great Hall.

Harry remembered when the Hat couldn't figure out where to put him in his first year. He'd been quite worried about being sent to Slytherin. Looking back now, he wondered if it had shown on his face.

Walker didn't look like he was worrying about anything. He wasn't looking at any of the tables, so Harry couldn't tell which Houses the Hat was trying to pick from. It felt like everyone in the room was holding their breaths.

Finally the Hat stirred after being quiet long enough that McGonagall had given it a prod with her wand to make sure it was awake and still working.

"SLYTHERIN," it shouted.

The Slytherin table erupted into cheers, as per usual. Some of the older ones only clapped and looked smug. Malfoy was one of those.

Walker looked confused when McGonagall pulled the Hat off of him. He leaned over and said something to her, and it seemed that she said something back. Then he walked up to the staff table where Dumbledore was.

Harry couldn't tell what was being said, but he could see Dumbledore nodding, and then Walker _bowed_. Not those little bows that Harry himself did sometimes out of courtesy. This was a _full_ bow.

He hoped that this Walker fellow wasn't one of those Pureblood stuck-ups. Those sorts of Slytherins were the worst.

Harry watched Walker go down the steps and over to the Slytherin table. He almost stopped paying attention then, except he saw that Walker wasn't planning on stopping or sitting down at the table. He kept walking, and he was looking at the table, but he didn't seem to be looking _for_ anyone.

It was Malfoy who stopped him, holding out his hand and no doubt using his name to rope a poor bloke into joining his gang. He looked properly smug about it, too.

Walker was halfway to shaking Malfoy's hand when his head shot up. He looked around the Slytherin table, up at the House banners, yanked his hand back, and then _ran away_.

From what Harry could see, he was running like a bludger had been set on him.

"I am sorry to say," Dumbledore said with the barest of smiles, once the Great Hall's doors had shut, "that our newest student is not feeling well today, and has been excused from the meal. You may, perhaps, see him in your classes from now on."

"Blimey, Harry, did you see the look on Malfoy's face?" Ron said as he piled up food on his plate. "Looked like he'd been slapped! Wish I could've seen that up close."

From the way the other table was laughing and chattering, Harry wished he could've seen it up close, too.

/ / /

Malfoy was spotted grumping about Allen _bloody_ Walker several times that first week of school.

Harry _really_ wanted to know what this Walker fellow was all about now. Unfortunately they weren't in the same year, and none of their classes seemed to match up. Harry saw him walking around pretty often ("Hard to miss that bright shining beacon," Ron said. "I mean, his head. Hard to miss his head."), and McGonagall might have dropped a mention about him more than a few times.

"Do they specialize in Transfiguration in the Vatican?"

Hermione gave him a look of brief frustration. "I don't know. I couldn't find anything about a school called _Rose Cross_ in the Vatican, not in any books we have at the library here."

That told Harry a lot. Actually, it told him nothing, which mean it told him many things.

"The only one mentioned in the books I've looked through is a Noah's Academy for the Fated, but that was destroyed 35 years ago. He can't be from there."

"An entire _school_ was destroyed?"

Her mouth thinned. He could tell she found the very thought of destroying a school not only a monumental feat, but also one near blasphemous and unheard of.

Harry wondered what this other school must be like.

* * *

Draco was not used to being avoided. No, that wasn't right; he _was_ used to being avoided.

Draco Malfoy was not used to being _ignored_. He was not used to being brushed off. The mere _whisper_ of his name was enough to get even the older students to stop and listen to him. Everyone knew of his father, and so everyone knew of _him_.

He never considered that Allen Walker-Campbell might not have any idea who he was.

And a good thing, because he'd have been dead wrong.

"Lucius Malfoy, isn't it?" Walker smiled at him. "Your father?"

Draco opened and closed his mouth several times. "..So you _have_ heard of us."

"Only last night. No one would tell me why you wouldn't stop dogging me around, so I asked my uncle and he snooped about." Walker held out his hand, much like what Draco had done at the entrance ceremony. "Draco Mafoy, I presume?"

He should have felt elated. Draco was too used to seeing _fear_ , and a desire to please in others. Few people in Slytherin got on his bad side. This should have been a victory, albeit small.

Draco did not feel victorious. This was evidenced when he went to shake Walker's hand.

The grip was firm.

"Please don't talk to me again," Walker said, still all smiles. He reminded Draco of someone in the Ministry. The lady in pink. He'd seen his father talking to her sometimes. "I don't quite like people like you, Mr. Malfoy."

"..Ex _cuse_ me?" Draco demanded, aghast.

It wasn't as though this was the first time he'd ever heard words like that, nor the first time they'd ever been said so plainly to his face. But this was a _Slytherin_. This was his House! This was worse than being run away from!

"Hard of hearing now, are you?" Walker's accent took on an almost mocking tone and his smile grew sharper. "Shall I make it clearer? _You disgust me, Draco Malfoy._ "

He pulled his hand out of Draco's stiff grip and left just the way Draco had found him. Calm and brisk, and smiling.

Draco swore he saw a scowl on Walker's face as the turned the corner. A Slytherin through and through, perhaps.

It was too bad for Walker that Draco was never known to be a _good person_ who could just leave well enough alone.

* * *

"Have you made a new friend, Allen?"

"Friend?" Allen spat the word out as though it were a dung beetle. " _Friend_? Who could honestly be _friends_ with that- that-!"

"Tosspot?" his uncle offered. "Weasel? Troll dung? Pile of Phoenix droppings?"

Allen looked at his uncle in despair. "You can't say that about a student."

"I'm not, I'm suggesting things _you_ can say to him next time you cross paths. How about _dragofeci_?"

"What? No! I'm going to call him a-"

" _Tentaculo_?"

Allen let out a sound of frustration.

Neah Campbell groaned, leaning heavily against the doorway with a goblet in his hand. "Come on, boy, what's the point in knowing three languages if you won't use any of them?"

"It is meant for _conversing_ , uncle," Allen hissed. He threw his bookbag onto the couch. " _Civilized conversation_."

"Is that what they call it these days," Neah murmured. He took a swallow of whatever it was he had in his goblet. It looked strong. How much had he been drinking? "Lucius Malfoy's spawn, is it? _Fuckwad_ seems more appropri-"

" _UNCLE_."

"I hope you know that such language will not be accepted within the classrooms, Neah," said a voice from behind his uncle. "Especially not when directed towards students."

"Who's that?" Allen asked. "Were you meeting with someone?"

Neah waved the hand holding the goblet. "No one important."

A chuckle was heard, and a chair scraping along the ground. Albus Dumbledore emerged from the room. Allen fought the urge to scold his uncle for calling the Headmaster _no one important_ ; he knew Neah had picked up Cross's penchant for making Allen irritated for the sake of it.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir. Um, were you still talking? I can go, I have loads of homework to do anyway-"

"No need, Mr. Walker," the Headmaster said, smiling warmly. "I believe we are quite finished. Neah?"

"I'll keep it in mind," his uncle said, and waved the cup again.

Allen wondered how he'd never seen anything spill out of any cup Neah ever held, no matter how much he tossed it about. Surely a skill learned from Cross, the drunkard.

"Keep what in mind?" Allen asked. He had a feeling, but surely, _surely_ Dumbledore knew better than to-

"Classroom conduct," Neah said, draining the last of the liquid in the goblet. "For when I start teaching next year."

Better than to employ a bum drunk with a faulty eye and a penchant for hexing anything that moved because it looked at him funny. And the killings. Dumbledore did know about the killings, didn't he? Even though they were Dark Wizards? Killing was still killing.

"What's that look on your face for, nephew? Constipation?"

"I'm thinking about how many innocent lives you'll ruin, uncle."

"You be sure to let me know if he does, Mr. Walker." Dumbledore laughed again and gave Allen a pat on the shoulder as he walked by. "Cross Marian is a good man, and a good wizard. If he says you can be trusted not to destroy Hogwarts, Neah Campbell, then I will believe him. But if you harm any student here, I cannot say that I would be able to keep my promise with your benefactor."

The hand on Allen's shoulder tightened. He wondered if it was a threat, or simply meant to be reassuring his safety.

"Cross Marian is not my benefactor," Neah said slowly, in a tone that Allen rarely ever heard him use before. It was soft. "He is the reason I must be here at all."

Soft. And angry.

"Doing a favor for a friend?"

Neah smiled. "Taking responsibility for his own actions."

"Ah." Dumbledore seemed to get something that Allen missed, judging by the way his hand was no longer trying to gouge out Allen's shoulder.

"I will not harm my students, Headmaster. Not in any permanently harmful way, at least." The anger flitted away in that moment, replaced with the thoughtfulness of a particularly sneaky simian. "I can't promise I won't jinx them."

"I would ask that you refrain, if only because you will merely add to their ever-growing repertoire to use against each other."

Neah made a zipping motion across his lips and drew an 'x' over his heart. Dumbledore seemed satisfied with that.

"Why are we here, uncle?" Allen asked, after the Headmaster left. "I liked _Rosa Croce_. I made friends there."

"If you're willing to call Mr. Kanda your _friend_ , I think it's a good idea we got you out of there."

"What's wrong with Kanda?"

"He's _rude_."

"Well, yeah, but that's half the fun of getting him angry. And Kanda's not... _awful_. Much."

He had reasons for being the way he was. Allen wondered if all _Magonò_ were like that.

Neah let out a bark of laughter. "Then why don't you do the same to Mr. Malfoy, if you dislike him so much?"

Allen felt like he'd been hit with an epiphany.

"Allen," his uncle said then, somehow instantly sober again. " _Rosa Croce_ is closing down."

Yeah. He'd been afraid of that.

"The others have their own guardians, or they're old enough that their Trace will be removed and the Ministry can't do anything about that. You and the other young ones like you, we had to get you out early. Marian can't be claimed as your guardian, he's not related to you by blood. I can't stay anywhere in Vatican City without risking both our necks."

"Beauxbatons would've been closer," Allen said quietly.

"Mm," Neah hummed. He tapped a finger against the rim of the goblet and refilled it wordlessly halfway, then drained it all again. Might've been pumpkin juice, then. "You're not pretty enough for Beauxbatons."

Allen took out his wand and sent a spray of water at his uncle's face.

/ / /

"What was that other school you went to again, Walker?" Malinda Seymound asked while Binns' back was turned. At least, though figured it was turned. He was see-through, after all.

" _Istituto degli Obsoleti Rosa Croce_ ," he whispered. "Rose Cross Institute, for short."

"Rose Cross?" She wrinkled her nose. "That sounds like a church's name. Why'd you leave it, then?"

"Financial difficulties," Allen said with a practiced smile.

"You're a Campbell," said Cade Wynford. "Walker-Campbell. The Campbells are elated to the Kamelots. They're known to be notoriously wealthy, the lot of them."

Allen was almost surprised how much they knew about Wizarding families outside of Great Britain. He didn't know jackshit about anyone here.

"Did Malfoy put you up to this?" he asked, letting a tinge of amusement color the accusation.

"Any self-respecting Pureblood could figure out at _least_ this much," Wynford said. He seemed affronted by the mere suggestion that he couldn't have known it on his own otherwise.

Binns turned around again (again, so they thought) and they fell quiet. Allen had no trouble staying awake through the droning lecture. Seymound had charmed a note to constantly peck at the back of his head until he snatched it out of the air.

He read it, scribbled something in reply, folded it back up, and sent it flying at Wynford hard enough to leave a mark on his forehead.

 _Bring me a bag of chocolate coins and I'll tell you,_ it read.

Of course, he had no intention of telling them anything of use.

/ / /

"The Vatican Ministry is crumbling," Neah said after drying off his face. "The truce with the Muggle world isn't going to survive much longer. Marian says the Ministry wants to take us with them when they go down."

Allen felt as cold as water he'd just unleashed from the tip of his wand. Icy.

"Oh, no, not you. Marian and I. The NOAHs and _L'ordine Nero_. Their elites of elites. I suppose they think we're a danger to society outside of the Vatican City's rigid walls. Not enough rules out here to keep us under control."

 _Under control_. That definitely meant Allen and the other students.

"I'm only telling you this because I think you're old enough to understand why we had to leave. And you ought to know. But this is our Ministry's business. Don't go blabbing about it to outsiders."

Allen made a sound. "I'd do no such thing."

"My dear nephew. My _dear boy_." Neah had the goblet filled to the brim again. Allen really hoped it wasn't whiskey. "You'd spin a sob story out of the mole on your little finger if it would get you a free meal."

"I don't have a mole on my little finger."

Neah pointed at him and he felt his finger heat up. Allen looked at his hand. A mole had appeared on it.

"...This had better be temporary, uncle."

"If you don't return with 10 Lyras and a Knut, it will be permanent and you will be disowned."

"They don't even _use_ Lyra here!" Allen groaned. Then, looking at his little finger, he realized something. "..Hang on. Did you use this to get us over the border by disguising as Mikk?"

By now, Neah had drifted over to one of the couches and situated himself lazily in it, legs thrown over the arm like a ravished fool. He held his foe-glass monocle to his eye, and grinned.

"I have no idea what you mean."

* * *

. . .

* * *

dragofeci: from 'drago' dragon and 'feci', which means feces  
tentaculo: from 'tentacolo' for tentacle and 'culo', for 'ass'  
Istituto degli Obsoleti Rosa Croce: Rose Cross Institute of the Obsolete (very tentative, may be revised with a proper translation)  
l'ordine nero: supposedly 'the black order', which in this case is kind of like the order of the phoenix, but italian and under ministry supervision  
lyra: from 'lyre' and 'lira', the currency of the vatican state and italy (at least until 1999). singular form currency of vatican (and maybe italian) wizarding world.


	2. a hatred a day keeps dementors away

NOTES: swearing, the usual.

there is no update schedule i'm just writing really fast because i love this au? look, plot. more plot!

* * *

 **2: a hatred a day keeps dementors away.**

* * *

 _"Oh, shut up already, Malfoy!"_

Harry's head shot up. Next to him, Ron did the same thing. Hermione was already looking across the Great Hall where the Slytherin House tables were. It was easy to spot where the clamor was coming from.

 _"What's that, Walker? Got a problem with me?"_

 _"Yeah, I do. Have for_ _ **days**_ _. Your arm's practically_ _ **healed**_ _, what are you still going on about!"_

"What's happening?" asked one of the Gryffindors near them. "What're they shouting for?"

"Malfoy got himself mauled first day of class," Ron said through a mouthful of breakfast toast. "Apparently the Walker bloke there doesn't appreciate him complaining about it every hour of every day since Madam Pomfrey let him go."

"..Aren't they in the same house?"

"You wouldn't know it by looking at 'em."

Malfoy's voice was rising above the general din of breakfast chatter now, which had all but stopped as the argument continued. For all of Malfoy's faults, Harry had never heard him _shout_ like that before. Purebloods like him being above that sort of peasant thing, he supposed.

 _"How_ _ **dare**_ _you say that to me!"_

 _"I'll say whatever I dare, you_ _ **presumptuous foxwattle**_ _!"_

"What's his spine made out of?" Seamus leaned over to ask. "Dragonsteel?"

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone go in on Malfoy like that before," Harry admitted, almost admiring. "Never mind another Slytherin. What's a foxwattle?"

"A plant," Hermione said on reflex. "Bit like a stinging nettle, but worse."

"...Why's it called foxwattle?"

"You really want to ask her that first thing in the morning?" Ron intervened before Hermione could launch into a spiel about the nettle's history and magical properties. "She'll never shut up."

"Ronald!"

Ron's name rang echoingly. The room had fallen silent all of a sudden. Looking over, Harry could see that Walker was again the cause, if the crushed goblet in his hand was any indication.

Harry had never been more interested in Slytherin's affairs than he was now. Why wasn't Gryffindor's table closer?

* * *

Allen tried not to see red.

Easy enough. Slytherins loved wearing green instead. He didn't mind himself, preferred black and white and didn't mind switching out his red cravat for a green one occasionally, but red was Mana's color.

Red was the face paint that he and Mana had gotten at the fair. Red was the sunset they watched every night they were able to. Red was the fireworks on New Year's. Red was the matching ribbon they wore, when Allen was still young enough to enjoy that sort of thing.

Red was the spells sparking off of Mana's wand, and those of his acquaintances.

Red was the color of Mana's blood on the snow, painting it like an abstract impression. Salt thrown onto watercolors.

If not red, then green.

But, god, his eye hurt when he thought about green.

Malfoy was looking nervous now. He was standing, trying to look down his nose despite being nearly the same height as Allen himself.

Allen hated green. He hated snakes, too. The Vatican Ministry was full of them, snakes. Green snakes.

 _He hated snakes._ Lying, foul, manipulative, selfish and cold and _heartless_.

But was he any better than them now, in this bed of snakes?

"Take out your wand," he said, quiet. He felt much the way Neah sounded whenever he was particularly angry. He felt cold. Cold like dread. "Take out your wand, Malfoy."

"Or what, Walker?" Malfoy did nothing but talk big. Words were his weapon, Allen realized. Words and his family name. "You'll hex a cripple, will you?"

" _I'll hex your bloody toes off if you ever insult my father again_ ," Allen hissed. His hand was trembling, but he didn't reach for his wand yet. He wouldn't, not unless Malfoy showed any sign of doing the same. "Take out _your wand_."

He supposed the reason for Malfoy being so unsettled was the fact that Allen was still smiling. Had been for a while now, after the shouting stopped. He felt numb, not cold.

Someone approached. Allen looked over to see who it was, because the first lesson ever taught at _Rosa Croce_ was to be aware of your surroundings. NOAHs could be anywhere.

"What's going on here?" she asked. On her robes was pinned a green badge that said Head Girl. Allen couldn't quite remember her name at the moment.

Everything returned to perfect clarify the moment he processed her question over the sound of Malfoy's nonsense excuses of being threatened.

"I challenge Draco Malfoy to a duel," he said. "You _have_ heard of dueling, haven't you, Malfoy?"

"He's _hurt_ ," said one of the girls nearby, petulantly.

Allen looked at her like she'd spouted the most outrageous nonsense he'd ever heard since arriving at Hogwarts, and he'd already met _Trelawney_.

"He's still got an arm."

Malfoy scowled. "You want me to duel without my wand arm? Are you _mad_? No witch or wizard would accept a challenge like that."

Allen felt his lips curling into a sneer before he could stop it. "From what I hear, you aren't exactly the type to wait for your opponent to accept a challenge. Why should I grant you that same courtesy?"

"Is that a _threat_ , Walker?"

"Lower your wand!" The Head Girl hissed. Allen hadn't even realized he was starting to pull it out from inside his robes. "Are you _trying_ to lose us points, Walker? _Put it away_!"

"I couldn't care less about your blasted _points_."

" _Be that as it may_ , we are _Slytherins_. This is your House, too, Walker. _We stand together_. That means _no dueling each other_."

"Seriously?" Allen hissed back. He stopping taking his wand out, though. "You're not allowed to duel each other?"

" _Civilized_ wizards don't _duel_ , Walker." Malfoy spat the words out as though they were poison. The girl from before laid her hand on his arm, like she wanted to coax him into calming down. "Then again, I suppose you're about as civilized as your daft clown of a _fath_ -"

Red flashed. Someone screamed.

Allen thought it was himself.

* * *

"Remind me why we're going again?" Ron groaned.

"It was _your suggestion_ , Ronald." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Couldn't this have waited until after classes?"

"He could be gone by then," Harry added. "I don't think he was hit that badly. I don't really fancy a visit to the Slytherin Common Rooms just to see how he is."

"I heard he doesn't even stay in the Common Rooms," Ron said. "Not that I blame him. It's fancy and all but downright dreary, being underwater."

"Really? I think it sounds quite nice."

"You want to be a Slytherin?"

"I didn't say _that_. Just that being in an underwater castle sounds nice."

Ron leaned over to mutter conspiratorially to Harry. " _Being underwater sounds nice_ , she says."

"It does," Harry said. "I mean, if you could breathe down there too."

He didn't know what Hermione saw in it, but the thought of being deep underwater where nothing could reach him sounded very appealing at the moment.

Of course, he would also have been very much alone down there, which he thought was arguably worse than being targeted by a mass murderer. And he was quite sure how barmy that would have sounded, so he didn't say anything of it as they continued up the stairs towards the hospital wing.

"You're mad, the both of you," Ron muttered.

"I killed a giant snake, of course I'm mad."

Hermione was smiling. Remembering that she'd been petrified near the end of the final term last year wasn't pleasant, but after the initial scolding about going into the Chambers alone (Lockhart apparently stopped counting as proper supervision after she heard he was willing to leave Ginny down there to die), they had a great laugh about it.

Mad. Definitely.

Then her smile dropped and she pulled on both of their robes, tugging them into the shadowed archway of the corridor. Ron tried to say something but she shushed him before he could.

A shout rang out behind them, making them all go quiet. Harry heard footsteps and tried to press himself flatter against the wall.

"...not tolerate this sort of behavior..."

"..unaware you were... _tolerating_... Severus."

" _Snape_ ," Ron whispered, as if they didn't already know. "Who's he talking to?"

"We're about to find out soon," Hermione said desperately.

She pulled them out of the shadows and further down the hall. Harry spotted a open door and stuck his head inside to make sure it was empty.

"In here," he said.

Hermione lit her wand and gave the room a quick lookover before letting him and Ron pile in. After their countless mishaps, not to mention what happened their first year, they realized one could never be too careful looking for a hiding spot.

She put her wand out just as the footsteps started up again.

"Hope they weren't following us," Ron said.

"Can't be." Hermione shook her head. She seemed sure of this. "Snape was one of those voices, right? He must be going to the hospital wing too."

"Then who's the other bloke?"

"Teacher?" Harry suggested.

".. _uncivilized behavior_..." It was Snape again. Harry could hear the lip curling disdain, having been on the receiving end of it enough times. "Dueling first thing in the morning. Is that what they teach at the Institute?"

"I wouldn't know," said the other person. Harry wouldn't say he could tell someone's age from their voice, but it did sound like an adult. "I never went to that school."

"He sounds like Walker, doesn't he? I mean," Ron said, making some sort of gesture at the front of his throat. " _Thicker_. The accent. But it sounds like him."

"Judging by your reaction, whatever school _you_ attended clearly wasn't much different. His own _House._ "

"We don't have Houses where we come from, Severus. I assure you, Allen will treat those of Slytherin just as he would any other House."

"I have _four students_ in the hospital wing right now, Campbell. Had Ms. Tapia been any slower in deflecting those spells I daresay there would have been _many more_ , and not just from Slytherin."

"See? Indiscriminate."

Whomever it was, they sounded far too lighthearted for Harry's taste, given the subject at hand. Walker seemed friendly enough from what he'd seen. Not the type to purposefully stun everyone in sight.

As it was, only those who had been in the near vicinity of him and Malfoy had been caught in the one-sided crossfire. He did find it curious, though, that he never heard a single spell being uttered in those few seconds. Must have missed it. It _had_ gotten loud right away, with all the teachers descending on them to break up the fight.

"You tread on thin ice, Campbell," Snape was saying in his bare resemblance of a snarl. "You and that nephew of yours."

 _Nephew_ , Harry mouthed in the dark. He tried to get a closer look. Unfortunately, that meant he would have had to open the door wider when Snape and this Campbell person walked by; a plan that was foiled by Hermione having common sense and swatting at his hands before he could do anything.

"As head of Slytherin House I will give you and your charge a _fair warning_." Snape didn't sound happy, but Harry had never really heard Snape sound like anything else. He supposed this was just the Potions master's default mood. Irritable. "If he cannot learn to _control himself_ , this incident will be neither the first nor the last of its kind. Regardless of what the Headmaster may say about the boy's magic, repeated offenses of attacking his own classmates without provocation _will_ lead to expulsion."

"Perhaps if you would impress upon your House _not_ to insult and antagonize their own Housemates, my nephew would not feel the need to defend himself."

"You encourage his use of _hexes_ to defend himself against _mere words_?"

They came to a stop near the door of the room Harry was hiding in, blocking out the small bit of light that had managed to make it in. Luckily, Snape had his back to them.

Harry saw another man just about Snape's height. His hair was dark and unruly, it seemed, sticking out as though he hadn't combed it that day. He looked nothing like Walker.

"Words are knives when used properly, _Severus_. Not everyone is capable of fighting back insult with insult. You think the world is filled with people like you? A sharp mind, a sharp tongue, and a willingness and ability to strike others with it? You think a child in distress would be capable of the same wittery?"

The other man never took his voice above a hallway whisper, but that only made it feel all the more real. Harry could not see Snape's face; he could only imagine that sort of scorn and disdain the teacher was showing, if he was showing any at all.

All he could see was a gleam of white. It looked like eyes.

"You preach about civility yet burn the hands of those who seek your help. You pester those who are unwillingly ignorant, berate them for not knowing what you know. I've heard of your classes, if they can even be called such. I know what happens in them. It reminds me of my own childhood."

Snape took a step back, not down the corridor but towards the room where they were currently hiding. Hermione barely suppressed a gasp, only breathing in sharp through her nose. Snape froze.

Harry was ready to pull them deeper into the room, lest Snape not only catch them eavesdropping, but also smack Ron in the nose by throwing the door open. One of those he could live with. The other he would rather not be subject to the aftermath of.

"Your pitiful school _did_ teach you something of value, then." There was a sneer in those words.

"Oh, no. You are quite mistaken, Severus."

The man, Campbell, leaned in rather than drawing away, as most people did when confronted with Snape. Harry supposed few people ever willingly initiated the confrontation themselves, though. Aside from McGonagall.

"Schools do not teach us how to speak, or what to say. How to regard others." There was the flash of white again, which Harry now understood to be _teeth_. Campbell's teeth, glinting with his grin in the torchlight. At least, it had to be. Eyes couldn't glow white, could they? " _People_ do."

Mad, Ron had said. Absolutely mad.

"...So it would seem," Snape said. "I wonder, then, what sort of _people_ you've had the pleasure of associating with."

Campbell smiled. It was exactly the kind of smile Harry had seen on Walker time and time again.

"Only the best kind."

It took Snape another moment to let out a scoff and turn on his heel to leave.

"Not going to visit your students?" Campbell said to Snape, currently out of Harry's sight. "Careful, Severus. One might think you didn't care about them at all."

"You'll find that unlike some people, a Hogwarts professor has quite a bit of _work_ to do. And unlike _some people_ , I prefer to attend to my House charges as soon as possible. Not hours after."

They were spoken so flippantly that Harry had a hard time believing Snape hadn't just encountered someone who seemed like they'd be all too willing to snap someone's neck at the drop of a hat.

The man kept walking down the hall. His footsteps echoed long after Snape's had disappeared. For a minute, the only other thing Harry could hear was his and Ron's breathing.

"..His uncle's _scary_ ," Ron whimpered. "Bloody mad and brilliant, talking to Snape like that, but.. _scary_."

"Come on," Harry said, opening the door and looking both ways up and down the hall. "Let's hurry, before lunch is over."

* * *

The Matron looked up when Neah walked into the hospital wing. He could tell immediately which beds belonged to the incapacitated students; there were a number of Slytherins crowded around them, chattering softly like little birds.

"This way," Madam Pomfrey said quietly, jerking her head towards the farthest corner of the wing. "I had to ward off his cot after the first Slytherin tried to hex him while my back was turned."

"What happened?" Neah asked.

She pointed to one of the four occupied beds.

"Ah." He smiled. "That's my nephew."

The Matron didn't seem to be as proud as he was of Allen's defensive capabilities. Understandable. Allen's hexing humor was often on par with both Marian's and Neah's

Which was to say, near-ghastly.

" _Ciao_ ," he said, pulling the curtain aside after the Matron let him through the protective charms that wreathed the cot in something like frosted glass. "Yikes, you look rough."

Allen grunted, and even that was wheezy at best.

"What'd you use? _Ivuoto_?"

"God, no, Neah, I wasn't trying to _kill_ anyone." Allen rubbed at his chest with the heel of his hand. " _Rigetto_. Rebounded off a Shield Charm. And maybe the bat-eared one on the girl. Someone screamed at her."

Neah snorted. "Marian was right. You _are_ a piece of work."

"I went to school with _Kanda_ ," his nephew groused. His smile was fond, though. "He cuts all but the worst hexes. I had to find _something_ that would work."

"You do know that getting hit in the head with _Rigetto_ is about as dangerous as you can get without getting into blood and open wounds?" Neah tapped his knuckles against Allen's head a few times. "How did you think concussions happened?"

"..I'll try not to aim at anyone's head."

"That's a good boy." Neah patted Allen's hair, smoothing it out of his face. "..How bad did it get you?"

The boy pulled down the collar of his shirt with a grimace. It didn't have to go down far; just below his collarbone was the edges of a massive bruise that Neah knew spanned his entire chest. He winced.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me a potion for it, but it works slow so I have to stay here until it's gone... Just as well that it bounced back to me. I wasn't intending to cast one that strong."

"If you didn't want to hit anyone with that spell, you shouldn't have used it."

Allen frowned as he pulled the blanket back up to his throat. "..I wanted it to hit Malfoy."

"Was he that bad?"

He could see the corners of Allen's expression loosening at the seams like a patchwork doll. The boy was a child, after all. Abandoned, orphaned, shuffled around. He was a bag of bones held together by the name _Mana_.

Maybe Marian had been hoping that living in the Rose Cross Institute would help. Maybe he was right. Maybe it did help.

Maybe it only made things worse.

"He-" Allen sucked in a breath and swallowed. It probably hurt to do anything else but breathe. At least he wasn't crying yet; that would've hurt more. "He said... that I was sent here because my father didn't want me. That _Mana_ didn't want me. That my mother never wanted me. I know- I know it isn't true, I know he's lying, he doesn't know what he's talking about, he's just being-"

The smile just looked painful now. Allen had a long ways to go before he could make it look effortless. He'd get there eventually. Neah was there to help with that.

Reaching up, Neah brushed away the hair over Allen's left eye. A line of scarred tissue slanted through the eyelid, the wound having been deep enough to leave some lasting damage. They'd managed to get it healed before he lost it entirely, but his sight was already lost by then.

Allen hadn't wanted to get a prosthetic though. Said he was fine as he was and that they didn't have to spend the money on it, despite the fact that Marian never paid for anything anyway.

Said it was all he had left of Mana. Of the night Mana died.

"People will say and believe all sorts of things, Allen." Neah curls his hand against Allen's head when his nephew doesn't push him away or give any other indication of disliking the touch. "The only way to stop them is to tell them the truth. And even that isn't a guarantee."

Of course he wouldn't dislike it. Mana probably used to stroke his head like this. He did it for Neah, too, when they couldn't sleep after their lessons.

"If you won't do that, then you'll have to find other methods."

"I've.. already told them I don't like talking about it. Linali and the others understood."

"They would. They're orphans, like you."

"I'm not a-"

"You were an orphan," Neah said, soft but firm. "I was an orphan, and so was Mana. Marian was a half-orphan. Linali Li is an orphan, Kanda was an orphan, Lavi, Barry, practically everyone you know in _Rosa Croce_ was an orphan. That's _why_ you were in _Rosa Croce_."

He got up from the bed and dropped into the chair nearby. Allen wasn't looking at him now, instead staring resolutely up at the frosty, wavy ceiling of the warding charm.

"You're an orphan," Neah repeated. "But that doesn't mean you don't have a family. I had Mana, and the NOAHs."

"You killed all the NOAHs," Allen muttered. He was reaching out for the glass of water on the side table but found it just a little too far away.

Neah ignored him. He was wrong, anyway. Neah only killed _most_ of them.

"Marian had Maria, for a while."

"She's dead."

He ignored that too.

"Ms. Li has her brother. Bookman picked Lavi up. Kanda won't admit it, but he has Noise and Daisya, and Froi. He especially won't admit to Froi. And you, you have _them_. All of them. That's what you wrote to me about, remember?"

Allen let out another grunt as he tried to sit up.

"And besides, Allen, you've got me and Marian now. We might not be Mana, but we'll do what we can." Neah looked up and blinked. Allen was looking at him like he'd grown three heads and another pair of ears. "..What's that face for?"

"I.. I was just.. I thought about you and Cross being my dads, and I couldn't. I.." He said nothing else and just laid back down, staring horrified at the ceiling, hands clasped over his chest like he was praying. Then he let out a breath that shuddered from more than just the bruise on his chest. "... What a terrible thought."

"It can't be _that_ bad. I've been a great uncle!"

"You nearly killed three people just getting us out of France, you great buffoon."

Neah conjured a cushy yellow pillow with a flick of his wand and dropped it onto Allen's face. He forewent a sticking charm though, and didn't bother ducking when Allen threw it back at him with a shout.

"I suppose I'm not as great as I think, if you've managed to get yourself a slew of detentions within the first three weeks of term."

Allen was laughing. That was good enough.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to get Madam Pomfrey to let them visit Allen Walker. Harry always thought she never let anyone in if they weren't either related or in the same House, or known friends.

Then again, how would the Matron even know who was or wasn't a friend? Maybe she just had a sense for it. Like Hermione had for whatever mess Harry was about to accidentally get them into.

Speaking of which, Hermione was giving him that look again. The one she usually gave him and Ron whenever they were about to do something stupid and she knew, but couldn't decide if it was worth it to try and stop them and thus risk being pulled into it just to make sure they lived.

Granted, that had only really happened twice by now. Harry wondered what the Near Death Experience count was for the average Hogwarts student, if he was going to break any records by the time he graduated.

"Through here, you three." The Matron directed them over to the furthest cot in the hospital wing. It looked normal until they got closer, upon which Harry found that it seemed to be shrouded by a film of frost. She must have seen their confusion. "Mr. Cassidy over there thought to get a little revenge for his friend. He's been hit with a Dragon Itch Jinx for his troubles, courtesy of Mr. Walker here."

"Dragon Itch?" Harry asked. Hermione looked surprised and was craning her neck to get a look.

"Brilliantly nasty, I'd say. Gives you a terrible itch, then keeps you from scratching at it by turning the skin into dragonhide. You don't usually see it outside of dragon countries." She shook her head with a sigh. "Well now. I'll see if his uncle is quite finished with his visit."

"Oh-" Harry took a step back. "No, no! It's fine, we don't want to- we don't, right guys?"

"Right, yeah," Ron agreed hastily. "We can wait. I mean, we barely know the blo- ow! Hermione!"

She hid her arm behind her back and fixed him with a sharp stare.

"Don't be, Mr. Potter. The man lives in the castle, he can visit any time he wants." Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and tapped on the invisible barrier obscuring the cot from view. In a moment, the man from before stepped out of the shroud. He gave them barely a brief glance before looking at the Matron again. "Neah, Mr. Potter and his friends here wanted to have a word with your nephew. I hope we haven't interrupted anything?"

"Well," he said, "not _exactly_ -"

A yellow pillow bounced off the back of the man's head and landed at the Matron's feet. She looked at it with something unreadable on her face.

Walker's uncle pointed his wand at it and Vanished it away.

"Not exactly." He grinned, about as devilishly handsome as Lockhart was after 4 hours of answering his fanmail.

Which was to say, Harry could tell it was there, but something like Lockhart's unrelenting smugness (swelled up to the size of Aunt Marge) was preventing it from being properly appreciated. Poor man.

"Actually, Matron, there was a thing I wanted to ask you, if you had the time. Allen, I'll be back in a bit."

Madam Pomfrey ushered off to the side, letting Harry, Ron, and Hermione slip into the shroud. Allen Walker-Campbell was holding a violently fuchsia covered throw pillow up over his head, just in the middle of throwing it.

"..You're not my uncle," he said.

"That's not cursed, is it?" Ron asked.

"Why would it be cursed?" Walker lowered the pillow far too slowly to not be suspicious. He cleared his throat. "Who are you lot anyway? You're not in my year."

"What, you know everyone in your year?"

"It's a habit." He gave Ron a blinding smile, like the one Campbell had given Snape, but ramped up to the strength of the sun on a cloudless day. Or a particularly strong _Lumos Solem_. Harry felt cheated, somehow. "So?"

"Oh, er- I'm- Harry. Harry Potter. These are my friends, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger."

"Allen. Walker." Walker jerked his head in the direction his uncle had left in. "It says Campbell on the paper, but I refuse to be verbally related to the duncecap over there."

"I heard that, dear nephew," came muffled through the shroud.

Walker threw the pillow. There was a _pop_ and no screaming, so Harry supposed it had been Vanished away like the other one.

It was... a strange thing to watch. Harry had always equated 'uncle' with 'oppressive, derisive, hateful, overweight codger', not someone who didn't mind having a possibly cursed pillow thrown at them. Twice.

"Did you need anything?"

"Er... well-" Harry wondered how they were supposed to say this. It sounded like a better idea on their way up here, and Ron was the one who thought of it anyway. "We were- we were in the Hall for breakfast, too. This morning, when you.."

"When you knocked Malfoy flat on his arse," Ron supplied. "It was brilliant, by the way. Don't think I've ever seen anyone throw a jinx that fast."

Harry expected some sort of agreement; most people who tried to hex Draco Malfoy would have, though Harry could count on one hand the number of people he'd heard of that tried. He and his friends among them.

Walker looked neither mad nor gleeful to find someone else that disliked Malfoy (not that it was hard). He just... looked. And then he looked contrite.

"I missed, though." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and winced with the motion. "And I ended up hitting some people who had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah, but they were all Slytherins anyway. Bet they deserved a lot more than a Bat-Bogey," Ron said, looking at the other occupied beds. "Foul lot."

"I'll thank you not to talk about my House like that," Walker said with a smile so serene it was almost scary. It reminded Harry of Campbell, earlier. And also made Harry wonder what Campbell had meant when he said that Walker would treat Slytherins the same as any other house.

"Well that's what they are! Have you _heard_ them? The way they talk to others, it's-"

"Of course I have, Mr. Weasely. I have classes with them all the time." Walker looked a little amused. "I _am_ a Slytherin, you know."

 _There's not a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin._

Harry looked at the scar over Walker's milk-colored eye, and felt that Walker was doing the same with Harry's own scar. Curse marks. He resisted the urge to rub at it on reflex.

Ron looked constipated. Or confused. One couldn't be sure without asking.

"You cast those jinxes nonverbally, didn't you?" Hermione finally spoke up. She looked like she'd been waiting to say something for ages and didn't care about the drastic change in subject. "We didn't hear you shouting."

"Nonverbal?" Walker frowned. "Oh- you mean without incantation. Yeah, I suppose. Why?"

Hermione had her lips pursed in thought. "We aren't taught nonverbal casting in Hogwarts until sixth year. Isn't it the same at other schools?"

"The nature of our magic in _Rosa Croce_ requires us to obtain an intense focus and control over our abilities as early as our second year," Walker said almost mechanically, like he was reading off a welcome pamphlet. He delivered it a lot smoother than Stan Shunpike did, though. "We can do most simple spells nonverbally by our third year. But we don't have nearly as many classes as you have here, so our curriculum does allow for more time to practice things like that."

"What about jinxes then?" Hermione sounded almost upset. Harry couldn't really figure out why. "Do they teach you to do those nonverbally in class, too?"

"Oh, no, I figured that out while dueling. We had duels regularly in _Rosa Croce_." Walker laughed, and it didn't sound mocking at all. "All in good fun, of course."

Harry had a hard time believe this person belonged in Slytherin at all. He wasn't stuck-up or arrogant, and he was talking to Hermione like it was the most natural thing in the world. Granted, there was really no way to know Hermione had Muggle parents without asking her right out.

"Any more curiosities, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, then looked between Ron and Harry like she was scolding them for making her do all the talking.

"Um," Harry said, thoroughly, nonverbally scolded. "I was.. wondering... I mean, you don't have to answer, but- what were you fighting about? You challenged him to a duel, right?"

"Yes, I did." Walker had on a wry smile now, though it was still carefully devoid of anything like anger. "He insulted my father."

Harry supposed he understood. Well, he never really knew his father, so it wasn't like he could take anything personally. All he had to go on was what everyone else said, and everyone, of course, had their own opinions. That only made it all the more frustrating.

"He doesn't know my father's dead, though, so I guess I'll apologize for overreacting next time I see him."

"What?" Harry balked. "No, you don't have to- I mean, it wouldn't matter. He knows _my_ dad is dead and he's still a right bastard about it. Malfoy's just.. he's just like that. If anything it makes him worse."

"Oh." Walker's face fell. He looked so disappointed. "Then I guess I'll just be telling him to stop being such a flobbery git. I'm older, he's got to listen to me, right?"

Harry immediately thought of a flobberworm with Malfoy's hair and face on it. Ron burst out laughing, so he must have been thinking the same thing. Even Hermione had a strained smile like she was trying not laugh.

Harry took one look at her and they both dissolved into giggles until Madam Pomfrey tapped on the warding charm again. Campbell ducked in with a wave.

"Matron said you ought to stay for another hour or so, rest of the day if your bruise doesn't let up. It's- lunch, yes?" Walker's stomach growled. He flushed. "Yes, lunch. I'll see if the Matron will let us bring some food up. What's your classes for today? I'll swing by your teachers and gather up the homework for you."

"What? No. You can't go talking to my teachers for me. You can't go into my classrooms!"

A flick of his wand extracted two pieces of parchment from inside Walker's robes, one of which Harry recognized as their timetable. The second one was-

"A map, Allen? Are you still getting lost?"

" _Don't you dare waltz in there looking like that!_ "

Harry realized just then that Walker's uncle was wearing capri pants with long socks and a pair of loafers along with a standard set of robes. He found himself agreeing; even if _his_ uncle hadn't been an insufferable overinflated windbag, Harry wouldn't want him talking to his teachers dressed like that.

This was partly because Harry did not want to see Vernon in capris, ever.

"I will behave, nephew." Campbell flashed another smile. Hermione made a little noise that he seemed to ignore. "Ciao!"

He left, and Walker buried his face in his hands with a groan. Harry and Ron shared a look.

"..Your uncle's, er. Interesting."

Walker didn't answer Harry. He just rolled over and pulled the covers up over his head like he wanted to hide from the world.

"We'll, um, we'll be heading off," Harry said. He couldn't help but grin a little. "Hope you get better soon, Walker."

"Yeah," Ron said. "Jinx Malfoy again, will you? Merlin knows he needs to get knocked down a rung or two."

Ron stepped out first with Hermione behind him hitting him on the arm, to which he let out a yelp. Harry smiled at their antics until he turned back to Walker, who had rolled over and was now looking somber and thoughtful at the spot where Ron was standing.

When he noticed Harry was looking at him, he smiled again. It slid easy onto his face, in spite of everything. Like someone putting on a mask.

"Thanks for visiting, Mr. Potter. And it was nice to meet you, properly."

"Yeah," Harry said. His tongue felt heavy. "Sure. Any time. Um, Harry's fine, if you want. Potter's a bit- well."

Walker chuckled. "You can call me Allen, then. I don't mind Walker, though. I like it. Reminds me of my dad."

Harry went after Ron and Hermione, feeling like he understood what Walker, Allen, was talking about. 'Mr. Potter' reminded him of his father, too.

It also reminded him that he wasn't his father. Reminded him to remind everyone else that he was Harry, not James.

/ / /

"What are you smiling about?" Ron asked as he caught up with them.

"Nothing," Harry said. "..Allen's a bit odd for a Slytherin, don't you think?"

"Allen?" Hermione gave him a look, to which he responded with a shrug. "I'm more concerned about his.. well, his bloodline."

"Since when did you get worked up about _ancestry_ , Hermione?"

"His last name's _Walker-Campbell_ , Ronald," she said, shoving Ron's shoulder as she went. They grabbed him by the robes before he toppled over the staircase railing. "Sorry. I don't know about _Walker_ , but I've heard of the Campbells before. I can't remember where, but I haven't got a very good feeling about it."

"Hermione," Harry said, slowly, "this had better not be the part where you make us break into the Restricted Section of the library in the middle of the night, only to find out you've had the book in your 'light reading' pile all this time. Again."

"Oh, fine, if you two are too scared to go looking in there, I'll do it myself."

"What?" Ron squawked, running down the stairs after her. "You can't do that! You're Hermione, you can't break the rules! ...Again!"

"Don't be silly, I'm not sneaking in there. I'll ask Professor Binns for a permission slip. It'll be easy. Of course, it might take half an hour, but I know it'll be worth it."

"You're going to search the entire Restricted Section in half an hour?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. " _No_ , Ronald, it will take half an hour to _get the slip_. Honestly, have you ever even tried talking to Professor Binns?"

Ron made a face. "I try not to think about it."

* * *

Dementors were curious things. Not quite alive, not quite human. Creatures born from death and decay, bringing it with them wherever they roamed. Omens.

 _"How's he been, Neah?"_

"Alright, I guess." He shrugged, then remembered that it wouldn't be seen. "Jinxed four students and challenged another to a duel. In public."

Marian let out an amused snort. _"He's only been there 3 weeks."_

"Are you kidding me, Marian?" Neah laughed. "There's a boy got his arm torn up by a Hippogriff on the first day of term. Hogwarts is almost as bad as _Rosa Croce_."

 _"Just wait until Kanda gets there."_

"Next year, you think?"

 _"Maybe. Komui's still working on it and I need them where they are right now."_

"Where they are is stuck inside a country you hate, Marian."

 _"I don't hate Vatican City, Neah. I hate the Ministry."_

"Them's fighting words, ain't they? You talk to the Ministry with that mouth?"

 _"Shut up."_

He cracked a grin, then leaned back when the chill began encroaching on him. Oops. Stay focused.

"Have you found a lead yet?" he asked quietly, watching the shadowy figures drift about the outer grounds of Hogwarts.

 _"Rumors. Ears to the ground. You know how the NOAHs are."_

Yes, he did.

 _"You still don't remember anything?"_

"I never went near 'it'." Neah took a sip from the goblet in his hand. Pumpkin juice, this time. For now. "Substitutes don't get exposed to much more than necessary, and 'it' wasn't necessary."

Marian let out an exasperated sigh. _"Sure, make my job harder, why don't you?"_

"You've had, what, 35 years to search for the blasted thing? How are you so bad at your one job?"

 _"Technically I've only been looking for it recently. I spent most of that time before that keeping_ _ **you**_ _from getting caught, you ungrateful ass!"_

"It's all _your_ fault anyway," Neah drawled. The sounds of cursing and objects breaking from Marian's side made him grin. It was more Marian's guilt at this point than anything. Neah just liked reminding him of it. "Try looking for _dissennatore_."

 _"_ _ **Dissennatore**_ _? What makes you say that?"_ A pause. _"..Did you remember something?"_

"No. Well, yes. Technically no." Neah swirled the juice in his goblet, pensive. "We don't see them very often in Vatican City, or in Italy, so I'd forgotten about them."

 _"So why are you remembering it now?"_

"Great Britain's Ministry of Magic uses them, apparently. They've been sent as guards around Hogwarts."

 _"They_ _ **WHAT**_ _."_

"Oh. You haven't heard? There's a serial killer on the loose. Apparently he wants to kill Harry Potter. You know, the boy who killed Voldemort. Allen just made friends with him."

 _"Merlin's fucking nose hairs-_ _ **Why didn't you tell me this sooner**_ _-"_

"Marian that's not important right now." The other man tried to cut in. Neah shushed him loudly into a disgruntled silence. "You recall what we know about the _dissennatore_? They grow in places where others have died. Born from decay. 'It' has always been in the business of death. And where there's death, there's decay."

 _"And where there's decay, we get_ _ **dissennatore**_ _. Brilliant. Like I haven't already checked every report of cold spots in Vatican City."_

"Then try outside the Vatican. Try outside of Italy. Try Sicily."

 _"That's technically part of Italy."_

"Oh, right." The dementor was coming closer again. Neah took another step back. "Portugal?"

 _"..Why Portugal?"_

He shoved his wand into one of their faces and fired off a shower of purple sparks. The dementors backed off with a hollow cry, then tried to come back at him.

Neah thought about the NOAHs. He thought about Joyd. Desires. Road, Mightra, Tryde, all of them.

He thought about Adam, too. About Mana.

He thought about Portugal.

"Oh," he said, continuing to walk back until he was too close to Hogwarts for the dementors to follow. "..Just a hunch."

 _"What, is that all you got? Nothing more convincing? You're not going to spout some bullshit about a rumor you heard on the streets that people were coming back to life?"_

"Well, that too, but really it's just a hunch. And anyway, this is your job, Marian, not mine. Why are you making me do all the work?"

 _"...When I see you, Campbell, I am going to_ _ **Avada Kedavra**_ _your traitorous hide so hard your nonexistent_ _ **grandchildren**_ _will feel it-"_

Neah flicked his hand and snuffed out the bright red flames contained within the glass phial floating beside him, effectively cutting Marian off mid-sentence. He watched it revolve for a moment before stoppering it and stowing it away inside his robes. It didn't seem like Marian was keen on calling him back.

"He talks a lot, doesn't he?"

The dementors did not answer. Nor did the withered flowers they left in their wake.

Neah turned around and went back to the castle to fetch his nephew from the hospital wing for dinner. And then homework, because Neah wanted to drink alone and unbothered, in silence.

...Lots and lots and lots of homework.

* * *

. . .

* * *

ivuoto: from 'il vuoto', vacuum. a charm that creates a variable sized vacuum space, usually for explosive purposes. or suffocation.  
rigetto: from 'rigettare', reject / refuse. works like everte statum, but does actually leave lasting damage depending on spell strength. feels like being hit with a jet of water  
dissennatore: dementor. official italian translation

neah has a very complicated relationship with his brother mana. and cross. they drink their problems away together.


	3. but i see you in the mirror looking back

NOTES: the usual. implication of light gore but not actually. implied child abuse in the last part, because dgm is not a happy place.

this was a weird chapter to write? i dont' know... i don' tknow

* * *

 **3: but i see you in the mirror looking back.**

* * *

"Mr. Walker. Does the Headmaster know you're keeping a Gummy Ficus on Hogwarts grounds?"

Allen's hands went stiff. He looked up from his latest (and last) detention assignment of cleaning out the Potions classroom's cupboards. _All_ the cupboards. He hadn't even realized there were this many cupboards.

"...A what, professor?"

Snape held up with a flourish what would have looked to anyone else like a small, lobe-shaped leaf, bisected in the middle by a streak of bright yellow. It looked innocent enough, floating inside a Bubble Charm.

It would be, if Allen wasn't already aware of what exactly it was.

"Gummy Ficus, Walker. Perennial, native to the tropical Eastern climates. Often used as a binding agent in advanced potions, in antidotes.. and in several darker, deadlier poisons."

With a gesture, the floating leaf flew into one of the open cabinets that Allen had finish cleaning and organizing a few days ago.

"It is also, of course, of a most parasitical and dangerous nature. Tell me, Mr. Walker, how did you manage to come across a _sapling_ of a plant so rare and potentially deadly that, had it not been so _difficult_ to acquire, would surely land it on the Restricted Register?"

Allen opened his mouth, then closed it.

Snape looked expectant.

"...Uncle Neah has a few clippings," he said, lamely. "I take care of them sometimes."

"A _few_ clippings?"

"He likes eating the... fruit."

"I see." The muscle under Snape's jaw jumped. "I was expecting a better lie from you, seeing as the fruit of a Gummy Ficus tastes like-"

"Vomit, I know." Allen tried one once. It had not been a pleasant experience. Nor a clean one. "He soaks them in Firewhiskey. Apparently that makes them taste better."

Snape didn't look like he believed Allen.

It was only good luck, then, that Neah _had_ actually been eating his whiskey-soaked Ficus fruits. A whole crystal bowl full of them. The plant itself was in a vase nearby, branches woven into a lace patter and growing fresh leaves like the one Snape had been holding.

Allen snuck a piece after Snape left, seemingly satisfied with the fact that Allen himself hadn't been toting around a near-Restricted cutting of the plant.

He did, however, get a stern warning not to drop the leaves everywhere, seeing as they could cause anything from a slight rash to pus-filled boils upon skin contact, depending on one's magical sensitivity. And that he would hate to have to give Allen _another_ set of detentions for mishandling a dangerous plant.

"You didn't purposefully drop that leaf just to get out of detention early, did you?" Neah asked.

"I would _never_ do such a thing," Allen said with an indignant sniff. "It probably fell out of my sleeve when I was cleaning the cauldrons yesterday."

"Cleaning cauldrons with your left hand hardly counts as punishment anymore, Allen."

"I'm only being clever and resourceful, just like Slytherins are supposed to be. Besides, I think Snape realized it after the first few times."

Allen managed to chew on two more Ficus fruits before Neah retrieved the bowl and cradled it to his chest.

"You should get your arm pruned soon."

"Yeah," Allen sighed.

He looked at his left hand, knowing that under the Illusory Charm was a tangled knot of plant roots, branching out like fingers. His upper arm was starting to throw out new shoots like the potted one was doing.

"Kanda's not here, though. Maybe Professor Sprout could do it."

"Tell her I'll throw in a jug of Firewhiskey Ficus Fruits if she does," Neah said, holding the bowl up by the stem like it was a wine glass. "My own personal recipe."

"Assuming she likes Firewhiskey."

" _Everyone_ likes Firewhiskey, Allen. If you tell her eating them regularly will let her handle Gummy Ficus clippings barehanded, I'm sure she'll love them."

"They don't _have_ to be eaten regularly," Allen said, snatching one more fruit from the bowl before Neah hissed at him and retreated further down the couch with it. "You just like to. And you'll burn a whole through your stomach lining if you eat that much."

"I know," said Neah morosely, as he chewed on yet another one. "Thankfully I've added a sprig of Dittany to this batch's infusion. It seems to be working so far."

"...You hadn't added it before?"

"No. I've just been suffering. The whiskey makes it bearable."

Allen stared at his uncle for a long, long while.

"I think I'll ask Professor Dumbledore to help you work on your drinking problem."

"I do not have a drinking problem."

"You stew fruits in Firewhiskey."

" _Everyone_ stews fruits in Firewhiskey."

"Just because Cross does it doesn't mean everyone does!"

/ / /

"Walker!" Malinda Seymound called out to him the moment he showed his face at breakfast the next morning. "There you are. We'd been wondering if we'd see you again at all."

They seemed abnormally cheery, given what happened last week.

..Then again, it _had_ been a week already. Not everyone kept grudges going like he and Kanda did. And Linali. Oh boy, Linali's grudges.

"I've been busy."

"Doing what? Cleaning cauldrons?"

"...He _has_ got a lot of cauldrons, though."

"Walker, mail came in for you." Someone held up a burgundy colored envelope sealed with a glowing wax seal. "We were going to hand it over to Snape to give to you, since you're never in the Common Rooms, but we figured he'd try to have a look at it."

Allen took one look at the handwriting on the front and grimaced. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness. Probably unnecessary though, since it's sealed with magic."

"See, we figured as much. Then we realized that if Snape couldn't open it, he'd make a fuss about it being some manner of Dark Arts, and then that batty ol' Defense teacher would go poking at it."

"Professor Lupin?" Allen looked over at the staff table where all the teachers were. He tried to imagine Neah sitting there next year. "He's not that bad."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts is a joke," Malfoy piped up from a few seats away. Several of the students around him seemed to agree. "Everyone knows that. Better to just teach the Dark Arts themselves. Like Durmstrang."

Why did Allen always have to sit near him? What was he doing so close to the fourth years anyway? Did Malfoy just sit wherever he wanted?

"Counter-spells are just as important as the Dark Arts."

Malfoy looked at the pile of food on Allen's plate with his nose scrunched up in offense. "And I suppose you'd know, Walker?"

"We learned both in _Rosa Croce_ ," Allen said. He dropped three more eggs onto his plate for the sheer sake of making Malfoy look mildly sick. "But we're a rather.. specialized school."

"What sort of school teaches students to turn noses into Bubotubers?"

"Are you still complaining about that, Malfoy? I thought it looked rather fetching on you."

"Fetching my arse, I still can't blow my nose properly!"

Though they were laughing, Allen could tell the teasing was in good nature. Malfoy's family name was too prestigious for it to be anything but. And, perhaps, there was a sense of camaraderie among the Slytherins that Allen had failed to notice amongst the obvious... serpentine qualities.

He still hated snakes. But these were baby snakes, weren't they?

"Do they teach you nonverbal spells that early, Walker?" asked one of his classmates, Belinda Adler. "I saw you casting some in Charms the other day when Flitwick wasn't looking."

"Ah, well..." He shrugged, waving his fork in a way he hoped would dismiss the subject. Leaving the piece of bacon on it was probably not the best idea, though. "We're a specialized school."

"Like a private school?" Wynford asked. "I heard some families having been going for those instead of Hogwarts or Durmstrang."

"My cousin Ethelind isn't even allowed to go to school," Seymound said. "Her parents hire private tutors over to teach her in their house. They don't trust Hogwarts, see, and Durmstrang's too far away, too cold. She's always had weak constitution."

The conversation continued without Allen, some of them asking for tutor recommendations for private lessons over the summer. It must've been nice, he thought, having wealth and prestige.

Then he remembered his uncle, who technically had both, but refused to use any of it.

Or was it that he couldn't? He was wanted by the Vatican Ministry, after all. It had been difficult enough just accessing the Campbell family vault to withdraw as many funds as they could before leaving the country, and only because Allen had been legally registered as Mana's adopted son. He didn't think they would've been able to access the vault otherwise.

Still, he did find it odd that Neah never claimed the money belong to _him_ , being Mana's brother and an actual blood-member of the Campbell line. They had mutually agreed to inform each other whenever a sizeable sum was to be taken and used, which wasn't often.

He also never complained when Allen occasionally purchased things impulsively. In fact, Neah would seem almost delighted by it, whenever it happened.

Allen wondered if that was what it felt like to be spoiled.

* * *

It was after breakfast ended and they were all heading to their first classes of the day that Draco heard his name being called out behind him.

He turned around.

"What is it, Walker?" he said, trying to sound too scornful. Draco turned back to Crabbe and Goyle. "You two go on, I'll catch up later."

They looked questioningly at him until he gave them an expectant look, then scurried off. Well, as much as boys their size were able to scurry.

He didn't need them around just to talk to someone from his own _House_.

"Thought you said you didn't want to talk to me."

"I said I didn't want _you_ to talk to _me_." Walker smiled at him. Walker was always smiling. "There's a difference."

Draco didn't see what the difference was. It sounded all the same to him.

"Look, alright, I still don't like you very much-" Draco let out a snort at that, but held himself back from saying anything else. "-But even so, I shouldn't have jinxed you and everyone else like that last week. I'm sorry."

"...Right."

"My family's a bit of a sensitive subject," Walker said. Draco sort of understood. The next thing he said, though, had Draco scowling again. "So I'd really recommend not insulting any of them unless you want to know just how many nonverbal jinxes I'm capable of."

He was _still smiling_ when he said it, and it wasn't even in any purposefully insulting way. It made him look like a naïve fool, and Draco hated people like that.

"I thought you were here to apologize," he said, scathing. "Not _threaten me_ "

"I'm not threatening you! I really am sorry for jinxing you and your friends without warning last week." Walker's smile tightened then, and he had that same sharpness that he had when he was challenging Draco to a duel. "And I'm saying not to insult my family again, because I don't know if I can stop myself from doing worse a second time."

He sound just honest enough that Draco might have taken him seriously. But Walker was only a year older, even if he could do some spells nonverbally. A year couldn't make _that_ much of a difference.

"..You sure like to talk big," Draco said. "I don't care how great the Campbells are, my father-"

"Is in with the Ministry, I know. You've only said that every single time you open your mouth." He had the gall to _roll his eyes_. "So what?"

" _So_ , he can get you and your entire family thrown out of England before you can so much as _breathe_."

And then Walker _grinned_.

"No, he can't."

Draco's mouth snapped shut audibly.

He didn't understand. He didn't understand Walker _at all_. How could someone _know_ about the Malfoy's standing and influence, and yet be so callous in the face of it? How could he talk like that without thinking about how Draco's father could have him expelled in a heartbeat if he wanted? Banned from ever using magic again, banned from ever owning a _wand_ , which was about as disgraceful as one could be disgraced as a wizard.

Who the _bloody hell_ was Allen Walker?

"Oh, would you look at that!" Walker gasped mockingly, looking at his bare wrist. "That's all the time I've allotted for talking to you, Malfoy. Gotta run. See you at lunch!"

Draco was about to shout something about how _Walker was never there for lunch_ , but generally, Walker was never in the Great Hall for any of the gatherings. Not even dinner.

Honestly, seeing how much he ate earlier, Draco wouldn't want him to be there for every meal either.

And then he realized that Walker had absolutely gotten the last word there, waving at him like a fool.

Draco fumed all the way to class.

/ / /

Draco never wrote to his parents.

His parents never wrote to him, either, unless it was his mother sending him sweets every day.

It was childish. There was nothing to report. He was at the top in all his classes, barring the occasional Mudbood Granger and whatever _Professor Hagrid_ was doing this year.

He was writing now. Four words. Four words he'd almost stopped thinking about until Walker showed up for lunch, laughing and chatting with the rest of the fourth years like he belonged there.

He gave the letter to his owl and let it fly.

Allen Walker did not show up for dinner that night.

/ / /

 _Father,_

 _Who are the Campbells?_

 _With regards,  
Draco_

* * *

"I'll be glad when autumn is over," Neah mused, watching his nephew put away two more turkeys. Not legs. Whole turkeys. Stripped down to the bone. "You'll never manage to make friends if you don't have meals with them, at the very least."

"You don't know anything about making friends, uncle," Allen said, doing a very good impression of a chipmunk and an even better job of not spitting his food everywhere.

Neah thought about that for a moment. He conceded the point. "This is true."

He himself was eating a much more modest portion of seafood linguine, and had already taken for himself a serving of the pumpkin soup before Allen could devour it all. Marian had already warned him beforehand about the boy's autumn eating habits.

"Sorry."

Neah blinked, not realizing that he had been staring at the rapidly diminishing pile of food. Allen had stopped eating.

"..Oh, Allen. I'm not upset."

"Do you even know how to get upset?"

"You don't want to find out." It wasn't a threat. It never was. "I hear you got mail this morning."

Allen frowned. "Where did you hear _that_ from? you don't even leave the tower!"

"A little bird told me," Neah said.

As if on cue, the post owl from that morning fluttered down from the rafters and landed on the dining table. It preened itself briefly, then stole an entire slab of steak and flew off.

"Owls aren't allowed to eat steak, are they?" Allen asked.

Neah shrugged. "Are you going to stop him from taking it?"

The owl clicked at them from its new meaty perch.

"..Not really, no." Allen leaned slightly away from the prospect of sharp talons and a beak, and went back to eating, albeit more slowly than before. "Why is it here?"

He waved his finger at a pile of papers on the couch, summoning a rumpled envelope that looked like it had seen better days. And it probably had, because Neah had been sitting on it for about 6 hours.

"Marian sent us some mail."

"You got one too? I thought the one I got this morning was yours," Allen said, taking out a matching burgundy envelope from inside his robes, though his was still neat and flat.

"Has it got my name on it?"

"...No."

Neah waved his own, which _did_ have his name on it. "Then it's yours."

"Why would Cross send me mail?"

"Did I mention we're your dads now?" Neah said, idly tapping on his envelope and watching it turn into a folded canary.

It opened its paper beak.

 _"Neah Campbell, you fucker,"_ it said in an imitation of Marian's hungover-at-3am voice, so accurate that it even shook Allen out of his staring at the wall in slowly dawning horror. _"I'll make this short. Don't go to that whatsit village, the one on the permission form. The pig one. The brat knows."_

"Hogsmeade?" Allen said dubiously when Neah looked at him.

 _"Komui says the NOAHs might have sent some people there. No one on the Council, though."_ It was a feat of spellcasting that the bird actually paused in order to properly convey the gravity of the situation. Not that it was needed. _"They know you're in England, Neah. Which means it's only a matter of time before the Vatican Ministry knows, too. We're working on finding a way to distract them. And by 'we' I mean myself, because nobody else does any fucking work around here-"_

"He doesn't even work with anyone else besides me," Neah confided to Allen, who made a pained noise like he was trying not to laugh.

 _"..Anyway, stay on Hogwarts grounds as much as you can. I've already let Dumbledore know, so even if you try to sign a form as the brat's guardian, he won't be able to go. Unless he sneaks out. If he does, you can wallop him for being a dumbass."_

"I'm not _you_ , Marian," Neah said loudly over Allen's sputtering.

 _"You ought to be fine by the time Christmas rolls around if I don't send another owl. Don't get yourselves killed. Or worse- captured."_

Having finished delivering its message, the paper bird tweets a melody and unfolds back into an envelope, devoid of creases (but still unreasonably wrinkly).

Neah went back to his dessert while Allen stared at the letter, like he was waiting for it to get up and shout at him or something.

"Are you going to read yours, Allen?"

"I'll read it in my.. room. Or it'll read itself to me?" Allen looked rightfully unsettled by this. He stowed away the letter in his robes again.

"Seeing as I don't think Marian is capable of anything like _caring_ , it probably won't read itself to you," Neah said, ignoring the very fact that being warned to not enter Hogsmeade was, in fact, an act of something like caring. "If it does, burn it."

"That's a bit drastic."

"What's drastic is you trying to clean all those plates every single time." Neah waved his hand and got a pair of spoons to brandish themselves at his nephew to drive him away from the pile. "Leave it be."

"But-"

" _Allen_. Students do not wash their own dishes at Hogwarts. They have cleaning staff here to take care of that." So he had been informed.

His nephew frowned. "We didn't have to in _Rosa Croce_ either, but Jerry never minded the help."

"That's because you do it for detention. Come on, come on. Up you get. Time to get started on your homework."

Allen groaned dramatically and thunked his head onto the table. He stayed like that until Neah bodily hauled him up by his armpits and dragged him away, dumping him over the papers on the couch. He set about picking up his papers and balancing his drinking glasses precariously on top of the pile of empty plates.

"Uncle," Allen said, still lying down. Neah went over and dragged him over some more until he was sitting up, though not without a lot of squirming and laughing. "Um- stop! That tickles! I'm- I'm serious, this is important!"

" _I'm serious, this is important._ " Neah repeated the words in a pitched mocking tone, ducking the pillow that Allen threw at his head. "What is it?"

Allen tried to stop from throwing the one he was already about to throw. It ended up landing harmlessly in Neah's arms. Or, rather, he cast a spell on it so that it would land harmlessly in his arms instead of knocking over the vase it was headed for.

"I've.. I've been wondering.. Why is the NOAH Council looking for us? I know the Vatican Ministry wants _me_ back because of.. what I am. What I mean to them. But why is the Council..?"

Neah turned the pillow on its corner and balanced it in the palm of his hand, spinning it like a ball. It did not spin very well.

"The Ministry wants _you_ back because of what you are to them. Because they have invested time and money in your education, your training, your upbringing. In their eyes, anyone who graduates from _Rosa Croce_ belongs to them."

It made Allen grimace, but it was the truth. Everyone in _Rosa Croce_ knew it. Even the NOAHs knew it. The Vatican Ministry had never been very subtle.

"The NOAH council is looking for me, because they think that's where I belong. With them." He took his hand away and the pillow continued to spin, slowly, suspended in the air like a windchime rattler. "Because they were there when my parents were not. Because they provided for me, and expected something in return. My loyalty, my servitude. At least, that's what the previous Council wanted me for, I think."

Neah tossed the pillow back to Allen, who caught it with ease and heavy thoughts written all over his face.

"The current Council is probably just looking for me because I killed their predecessors."

" _Why_ is it always murder with you, uncle? Why can't it be... daisies? _Why couldn't you have just ruined their gardens_?!"

"You know most people would be upset to learn that their uncles are killers."

"I watched you curse two wizards and a witch off a cliff in France," Allen said, toneless and flat and wholly unimpressed. "Then you said to me, _don't worry, they can fly_!"

"They did."

" _They Apparated behind me_!"

"You looked _so_ close to tears," Neah said, giving him a thumbs up. "And then you jinxed their toes off, it was great."

Allen laid himself face down on the couch and muffled a defeated groan into the pillow he had. "Have you no _compassion_?"

"It's highly debatable. Marian has been trying to find out for years."

The boy muttered something, but it was lost to the furniture. Neah waited a few moments, and when it seemed that Allen was not going to repeat himself, he came closer.

"What was that?"

"I said, _but you're nice to me_ ," Allen said again, living his head up and propping his chin on the pillow. "You're nice enough whenever I'm in trouble, whenever I ask you for help... even if you won't do my homework for me."

"Only other students are allowed to do your homework for you. You really ought to move into the Slytherin Common Rooms for that. Or try the library."

Neah rattled off a few other options he could think of, based on what he remembered of his time in school. It wasn't a whole lot, though he'd attended all but his last year. There was very little he could recall that wasn't...

Well.

"You're my nephew, Allen." He sat down on the arm of the couch, summoning a bottle of light liquor and a clean drinking glass from the cabinets. "I loved my brother. We've only known each other a few months, but I honestly have no reason not to love you, Allen. At the very least, I don't hate you."

Which was more than he could say for many others.

"You are also Mana's son," Neah said softly. Allen looked up at him with his good eye, his expression something between huffy, embarrassed indignation, and ready to start crying right then and there. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for my brother. That goes for any child of his, too."

"..You would've done anything for Mana?"

"Mm-hm."

"And me?"

Neah swallowed a mouthful of the drink and smiled. Smiled a smile that he knew looked something like the kinds of smiles Mana used to give him. Warm, and happy. Reassuring.

Smiled a smile that he knew Allen had learned to imitate completely.

" _Absolutely_ anything."

It didn't sound like a lie.

But then again, nothing ever did.

* * *

The weekend had come sooner than expected. Allen had already asked Professor Sprout a few days earlier during Herbology lessons for help with 'his uncle's Gummy Ficus', which she had seemed extremely excited about. If what Snape said before was true, then she certainly had reason to be.

He did not expect a menagerie of teachers waiting for him at the Herbology greenhouse.

"Um. Professor Sprout?" She looked like a particularly spritely budgie, especially next to the other two. Allen swallowed nervously. "..I do recall asking to meet with you alone?"

"Yes, yes! You did indeed, Mr. Walker." Sprout was beaming. He supposed she meant well. "However, you recall I did attempt to impress upon you the sheer _volatility_ and _danger_ of a Gummy Ficus?"

"You were concerned that my uncle had _left me a plant to take care of that I was woefully underprepared for_ , I believe those were your exact words?"

" _Yes_! So, I went through the trouble of contacting the man himself-" Allen suppressed a whimpering groan. "-and he said you knew _all about_ how to handle a Gummy Ficus. Can you believe it? One would think he didn't care about your well-being at all."

Next to her, Snape gave him a look of ill-disguised disdain. Allen tried not to scowl at him.

"So, I've invited Severus here, he has an antidote for Gummy Ficus toxin, which we will certainly need. And Remus here, I would not usually require his aid, but as the Ficus has a tendency to strike out at those trying to handle it- well, he was free, and it is always good to have someone else with a quick defensive charm hand."

Allen could do nothing but nod in the face of Sprout's exuberance. Those actually were very good reasons for having both those teachers present, even though he'd expected the Herbology teacher to be proficient enough that they weren't required.

He looked at the student in the far corner of the greenhouse. He had a pot in his arms and seemed to be talking to someone Allen couldn't see.

"..Oh! Don't mind Mr. Longbottom there. Herbology is his favorite class, he comes to tend to the plants in his free time."

"Sounds like a friend of mine," Allen muttered.

He doubted Longbottom would get along with Kanda at all, though. Kanda never really got on with anyone without at least three shots of lemon liquor.

"A better use of his time would be _studying_ ," said Snape, just loudly enough that Longbottom would've been able to hear him.

"Now now, Severus, you only say that because he doesn't like your class," said Lupin. Allen found some sort of familiarity between the two, but not the good sort, because Snape looked disdainfully at Lupin, too. "Mr. Longbottom's interests and skills merely lie in other places, and that's quite alright."

He, too, spoke loud enough for Longbottom to hear. Allen figured the student wasn't a Slytherin, if Snape was saying things like that in front of other teachers.

Personally, Allen thought it was a fault on the teacher's behalf for not being able to help a student who was having trouble in their classes. Then again, _Rosa Croce_ was a much smaller school than Hogwarts. Much more...

..Specialized.

"Mr. Walker," Sprout piped up, "I notice you haven't brought the plant with you."

The other two teachers immediately turned their attentions back to him.

"Yes, I had noticed you were suspiciously empty handed coming in here, Mr. Walker," said Snape, again a little louder than necessary. "As your uncle was earlier. He seemed... unaware of the reason for our gathering when he walked in. Said _you_ would be bringing the plant yourself."

"He what."

Snape raised an eyebrow. Allen realized too late that he'd said that out loud.

There was a _thump_ from where Longbottom stood, and a yelp that Allen would've recognized with his ears plugged up. Oh, _no_.

His uncle straightened up, rubbing his head with one hand and holding a basket in the other, filled with what looked like a bunch of black strips of thin leather. The two of them came over, chatting about something Allen wasn't registering because he was too busy trying to parse the idea of _his uncle, gardening_.

There was _dirt on his face_.

"Is that the Boundebloom? Oh, marvelous." Sprout took the basket from Neah and set it down on a cleared off worktable, then took the pot from Longbottom as well. The other boy looked far less impressive up close. "I think we're all set then, though I don't see what for if you haven't got the main event with you, Mr. Walker."

"Is that right, Allen?" Neah's smile grew wider the more Allen frowned at him. "You didn't bring the plant?"

Allen spared Longbottom a brief look, wondering what year he was in and if he should even be exposed to a Gummy Ficus yet.

He rolled up his left sleeve, laid his arm on the table, and gave his uncle an expectant stare. Neah waved his hand dismissively.

" _Rivelio_ ," Allen said, tapping on the wrist with his wand.

His skin seemed to melt and contract, pulling back to show a mass of intertwined roots, beet-red in color. Longbottom let out a whimpering noise.

"Is that- is that _blood_?" He whispered.

"That, my boy," said Sprout, already putting on a pair of dragonhide gloves, "is the secondary root system of a _Gumminosis ficus_. Their cousins, the _Ficus elastica_ , have been used by tribes in Meghalaya, India to create living root bridges, but all _Gumminosis_ specimens use their roots to ensnare prey and suck out nutrients... Very carnivorous thing, _Gumminosis_. Very dangerous. You see why I've enlisted the aid of both Remus and Severus."

The Longbottom boy hid himself partly behind Neah, which Allen found particularly hilarious, given how shit-eatingly wide his uncle's grin was.

"I believe it was a bit of pruning you needed help with, was it, Mr. Walker?"

He nodded and twisted his arm just a bit, angling it a certain way, and once it caught the sunlight the tendrils writhed and turned until little green shoots were showing, sporting the same leaves Snape had found.

"How _do_ you put your clothes on in the morning?" Neah mused, running his wand along the young leaves. The tendrils moved away in response.

"I lie and tell it the sun's not out," Allen said dully. He wiggled his tendril-fingers, causing a rippling wave to go through the mass. Sprout _ooh_ 'd and _aah_ 'd at it.

"You're able to exert some manner of control over the roots?" she asked. He nodded again. "We may not need the Boundebloom after all. Can you separate them as best as you can?"

Soon enough, each individual root was spread out across the table in a macabre mockery of a flayed limb, missing only a layer of skin and a bone core. The only things keeping it from looking like a bloody mess were the brand new shoots sprouting up from each tendril.

Still, every time he moved his fingers, Longbottom would whimper shrink into himself, but he never backed down. And after a few minutes, he actually joined Professor Sprout in the pruning, both of them armed with a pair of heavy duty garden shears.

"They don't much like magic at all," she said as she worked, clipping the shoots off in between making sure Longbottom didn't put his own eye out. "Caretaking must be done manually. Bit of elbow grease never hurt anyone, I always say. We ought to make this a detention assignment."

Allen tried to imagine someone like Weasley or Malfoy being forced to prune his arm.

He made a face. Sprout laughed.

"You do know its primary root system releases a very deadly toxin?" She asked as though inquiring about the weather. He'd seen her eyeing the major veins going up his arm and under the sleeve.

"Oh, yeah. I was sick and delirious for _weeks_ when it first latched on. Not to mention we were running away from the native people too, since we weren't really allowed near the plants. They're very well protected."

"My goodness, who on Earth would have you do such a thing? Careful there, Mr. Longbottom."

"My, er... guardian..." Allen said reluctantly, watching the other boy carefully trim down one of the smaller shoots closes to the central root. He could actually feel that one. Slightly. "Not Neah. I had another guardian after my father died a while back."

The nerve in his arm trembled a bit, but he managed to keep the rest of it still for now.

"Sounds as though you don't quite like him much, Mr. Walker."

Allen met Lupin's eyes for a moment and then looked away with a shrug. "He's a bit of an arse."

"2-star personality in a 5-star body," Neah mused.

Everyone stopped and looked at him, except Longbottom, who was either too engrossed in clipping or simply did not understand the type of conversation being had.

That was, until a sharp pain burned up the line of Allen's arm and he yelped. One of the tendrils lashed out, rebounding off of Lupin's _Protego_ that had been casted in front of Longbottom.

It swung around and slashed his uncle across the face.

The next few minutes were filled with shouting and a stream of swears and curses that probably only Allen understood, seeing as it was all in Italian. Neah was on the ground, having knocked into one of the tables on his way down. The cut on his cheek was bleeding profusely from what Allen could see when Sprout yanked away the hand covering it to have a look. She was asking him questions like _is it burning? any tingling sensation? do you feel ants crawling under your skin?_ to which the answers were all _no, no, *merda di dio** no_.

"I'm sorry!" Longbottom repeated over and over, bringing his hands up to shield himself every time the struck out in his direction, only to bounce off the Shield Charm that Lupin was keeping up.

"Shut up!" Allen hissed, trying to grab the flailing thing with his other hand.

"What is that stuff?" The other boy wailed. "Why is it white? Are you _bleeding_? Is that white blood?!"

"Don't let any of it touch you!"

That was easier said than done. His left arm still felt like it was on fire and it took all his effort just to keep the rest of it from going wild.

"Professor-" Longbottom was trying to get Lupin's attention. "Professor, the Boundebloom-"

The basket tipped over and fell to the ground. Allen couldn't see the ground, but he imagined all the leathery blossom strips were now scattered everywhere, slowly curling into little unusable bouncing balls. It would probably take hours of coaxing to unravel them again.

He let out a stream of rapid, very angry Italian.

" _Language_!" Neah barked.

"You have a cut on your face." Allen snapped back. "I have a bloody pinched nerve!"

Neah stuck his bleeding face over the edge of the table despite Professor Sprout's insistence that he _remain still_. "That is no reason to _invoke the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit_!"

" _Porco due_!" Allen said, and his uncle let out a mock-scandalized gasp. "My arm is on fire and I want to _murder somethi_ -!"

"Will somebody _please_ just-"

Longbottom tossed a bucketful of tepid water onto Allen (and consequently, onto Neah himself, who was next to Allen) before his uncle could finish whatever he was saying. It sloshed over the side of the table, sloshily.

Allen looked at the other boy.

"...Um. Gummy Ficus is a.. a tropical plant, isn't it?" Longbottom said, holding the bucket in front of him like a buckler. "Thought it'd calm down if it got some water."

"Some," Allen repeated, soaking wet.

Longbottom shrugged at him helplessly. "I didn't think it would stay still enough to use a- a watering can."

Right.

On the other hand, his... hand. Was not throwing a fit anymore. It still hurt like hell, but more of a dull ache than something that made him want to tear it off and throw it down a cliff. In fact, it was making some sort of... noise. Even Sprout looked interested.

Neah was trying to wrestle the antitoxin away from Snape, who was reluctant to part with anything of his own creation.

"Aren't you immune now, uncle?"

"It _never_ hurts to be safe," Neah insisted.

"If he hasn't erupted into boils by now, he ought to be _fine_ ," Snape said. With another tug, he won back his potion flask with a sneer and took another look at the cut on Neah's cheek. "No drying of the skin, no scales. He hasn't even turned the slightest shade of puce green."

Neah looked slightly alarmed that he could have changed colors. "Thank Merlin the Ficus fruit has most of the antitoxins in it."

Snape's upper lip twitched downward. He put the flask away, now convinced that Neah didn't need it anymore.

"You should have it examined by Poppy later, Neah," said Sprout. "For infection. Oh, don't- let me-"

She was trying to stop Neah from seemingly taking his eye out with his own wand.

"I'm only trying to _clean_ it, Pomona."

"You'll scour your own eyebrows off like that."

"Are you implying my eyebrows are dirty blemishes?"

Snape muttered something under his breath that Sprout responded to in a tone of admonishment. She cleaned off the blood on Neah's face and clothing and also set about drying off the worst of the mess as well. She also siphoned up the undoubtedly poisonous resin that had spilled onto the table. He wouldn't even blame her if she was going to keep some of it for study.

Allen wondered if he should try drying himself off or getting someone else to do it. Or he could just change. He felt like he needed a wash anyway.

"Alright there?" he asked, coming over to where Lupin was checking over the boy for any injuries. Longbottom jumped, but nodded. "Sorry for all the trouble, Professor. I can usually control it better than that."

"You managed quite well, given the circumstances," Lupin said. "Mr. Longbottom is unhurt, as far as I can tell. He hasn't shown an effects of ingesting the toxin, but I'll send him up to the hospital wing to be sure, along with some of Professor Snape's antidote there."

Snape said something that Allen didn't hear. What he _did_ hear was his uncle's reply.

"Oh, just give it to him. The boy could be _dying_!"

Allen was tempted to make a less than polite remark about his Head of House's apparent nonchalance regarding the welfare of anyone _not_ in his House.

Instead, he made face.

Lupin chuckled, though not without the sort of look that conveyed just how much he understood what Allen was thinking. "I'll make sure he survives, Mr. Walker."

"Please do!" Allen grinned. "I've got to repay him for his help, and for all the mess."

"You don't have to! It- it was my fault, er, Walker," the boy insisted. Allen cocked his head. "I knew I wasn't cutting it right, it was just- was more difficult than I'd thought at first."

"It moved, didn't it?" Longbottom shook his head, but Allen laughed. "It's alright. Like I said, I can usually control it better. And the one who normally does my pruning is... well. He has a very steady hand. Surprisingly."

"Surprisingly?"

"Compared to the rest of his personality." If one could call it a personality and not simply a... disproportionate dislike of the material world. Or something. "He'll be here next year I think, so you might meet him then. I hope not, though."

"Er. Why?"

"Well, you might die." Allen shrugged, because really, what else could he say? It was true.

Although, Professor Lupin was looking more than mildly alarmed, so he supposed he should do something to maybe spin Kanda in a better li- who was he kidding, the only way to spin Kanda in a better light would be to clap twice over an earthen chasm and ask Rumpelstiltskin for a favor, and even _that_ was doubtful at best.

"I mean that in a very loving way, Professor. Mr. Longbottom," was all Allen could think to say, and he said it solemnly, with a very solemn face. He felt like he was swallowing sawdust. "He is a good friend of mine and he's absolutely harmless."

They did not look convinced. In fact, Longbottom looked more unconvinced than ever.

Kanda was probably going to maim him for this. Kanda was probably going to maim him for a lot of things that had happened so far. Kanda tended to maim things a lot.

Which was fine, because Linali was probably going to be here too, and Linali never let him get away scot-free. Neither did Allen.

"Mr. Walker!" Sprout waved him over. Allen bid a _good luck_ to the other boy and went back to the worktable. "Let's finish the trimming. I'll dry you up and get that wound calloused well so it doesn't- well, I don't suppose we can call it bleeding."

"Leaking," he suggested.

"Yes, leaking. A fine term!" She already had the garden shears in hand and was attacking the rest of the shoots with fervor. "We shall have to use that in the books."

Allen's arm jerked, but someone had already cast a Freezing Charm on it, so it did little more than twitch.

"In the what."

"In the books! I've always wanted to make a study of _Gumminosis ficus_ , but I've never had the time nor resources to petition the Indian Ministry for a visit. Would you mind lending a hand?" She laughed. "A hand! Well, perhaps not your entire hand. A clipping? Neah tells me a well-placed Herbivicus Charm will have it growing to a respectable size in short time."

 _Dear god_ , Allen thought as she continued talking. _She's just like Komui._

* * *

Linali sneezed.

"..Alright there, Lina?"

"Um. Yeah. Bit cold lately," she said. "Or someone's talking about me... or about brother."

"Why would you sneeze if Komui's the one they're talking about?"

Linali shrugged. "Maybe because it'd be bad if he sneezed in the middle of his meeting. What do you think they're talking about? Did Professor Bookman tell you anything?"

Lavi hummed. "I know it's got something to do with the meeting we had over the summer, with all the Ministers for Magic in Europe. You know how Allen's- er, 'travelling with Professor Cross'? Komui's looking for other places for us to go, too, in case Allen's doesn't work out."

"Schools?" Lavi nodded. Linali looked up at the sky. "France has one, doesn't it?"

"Beauxbatons, yeah. There's one in Norway too. Durmstrang. But they don't take _Nato-Babbano_ , which more or less means you're the only one guaranteed an entry. Can Komui prove your parents were wizards?"

She frowned. "Even if he could, I wouldn't want to go there. I don't think I'd like a place like that. You don't sound too sure about Beauxbatons either, Lavi."

"Gramps wasn't," he said. "Said something about Portugal when he was talking to Komui with the TeleFloo."

"Portugal? What's in Portugal?"

Lavi grinned, throwing himself back onto the grass. "Who knows?"

He looked like he did, but wasn't allowed to say. Or didn't want to say. Linali knew that Professor Bookman was planning to take Lavi on as his apprentice as a magical historian after graduation, but she still couldn't understand their need for secrecy. Was it something they hadn't confirmed yet? Bookman always had been a stickler for facts and details.

She decided to try another method. "Okay... what do you _think_ is in Portugal?"

" _Hmmm_ ," said Lavi. He held the _mmm_ for a few seconds longer than he needed to. Linali wanted to throw his eyepatch into a pack of rabid gnomes. " _Well_... all I've _heard_ is a lot of political movement. In the _Babbano_ newspapers, y'know. Nothing that proves anything, but I know when gramps is reading important stuff- he frowns more than usual."

Linali wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked in the grass for a moment before joining Lavi. "...Different schools, huh."

"I know, right? Actual school!"

"We _are_ going to school right now, sort of. There's teachers here and everything, and homework, and grades..."

A lot of lab coats and white robes. A lot of devices set up to watch their every move. A lot of whispering. Shuttered looks.

"Not really," Lavi said, more chipper than he had any right to be.

She watched the clouds go by, drifting overhead with an easy nonchalance that seemed almost mocking. They looked _free_. They _were_ free.

They weren't trapped inside concrete walls and reinforced glass, covered by layers upon layers of protective enchantments and warding spells meant more to keep them _in_ than to keep others _out_.

This courtyard had real grass, she could tell that much, and real sunlight, warm and soft on her skin. But there was no wind and no sound, nothing at all that seemed alive except them. Not even the morning dew was natural.

When it rained in Vatican City, it never fell. It never landed on her face. It never reached the ground. The wetness between her toes was always what remained of a simple Watering Charm cast in the night while they slept. The fog was ingenious. The fireflies spectacular.

But none of them were real.

"Not really," she echoed. "So, Hogwarts, then?"

"Allen seems to like it. Komui's gotten an owl or two from him so far about how it's been."

"I don't know if I want to leave _Rosa Croce_ ," Linali mused. "...I've come to like it here, in spite of-"

Her feet twinged and she held back a wince at the memory of fiery pain lancing through her ankles.

"..In spite of it all."

"There'll be people for you to like at Hogwarts too. I heard they have _hundreds_ of students."

"Good thing Kanda will be graduating before we get there," she said with a small laugh. "He can barely sit through classes with 6 people."

"Oh, man, _that_ I wanna see," Lavi said, grinning. "Bet he'd murder someone on the first day."

"He wouldn't!"

"Sure he would! If you ask him, _Yuu, you've got to go to class with 30 other kids, what are you gonna do?_ I bet _Lyras_ to licorice he'll say _murder_."

"No way! He'd probably say something like..." She grunted and dropped her voice as low as it would go. " _I'll leave._ And then not even show up."

"He'd get suspended and expelled so fast." Lavi let out a snicker.

"So would you!"

"I would _not_ ," Lavi said with mock offense. He sat up and clutched at his chest dramatically. "I'm an _exemplary_ student. _The best_!"

"You'd find a way to set fire to water, and then when someone asked how you did it, you'd shrug and say _magic_."

Lavi leaned in, eyes glimmering. "Does that mean you've figured out how?"

"..I'm not supposed to _tell_."

"That is _so_ unfair," he whined. "Our Headmaster is so unfair."

Linali laughed and rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs idly. "I wonder how Allen's holding up over there, all alone... I mean. I wonder how he's dealing with travelling with Professor Cross, all alone."

"He's an adaptable little fella!" Lavi beamed. "...Okay, maybe not 'little' anymore. Definitely not little. But he's definitely adaptable. Not to mention he isn't... _travelling alone_."

"The professor's friend you mean? The one Allen was writing too all of last year?"

"Yeah. Allen did say he was meeting up with someone to get out of Vatican City."

Linali looked at him long and hard. "..You know who it is, don't you?"

"I have _suspicions_."

"Uuughhh," she groaned, dropping her head onto the grass. It felt remarkably cool against her cheek. Maybe she was coming down with something after all. "Are you going to be like this at Hogwarts too?"

He lay down again, folding his arms behind his head. "Gramps doesn't seem to think there'd be a problem with that. At least, he hasn't told me I had to start prepping for anything like he usually does when we head out on assignment. I'd only be there for a year, anyway. Then gramps and I will be headed off after I graduate formally."

"Lots of things can happen in a year, though," she said. "People change. People get better, people get worse.. People die."

Just a few months ago, one of the visiting Ministry officials made a careless mistake. Linali had a vague recollection of his death, but felt no particular sorrow or anxiety for what that meant, no memory of what had actually happened. Despite the fact that every incident that occurred within the institutes walls was recorded and reported to the Ministry, and that it only meant bad news for their future.

In fact, Linali should've been more anxious that she was about it. They were closing down the institute now, after only 30 years of operation. That meant people like her and her friends would be thrown out, or taken in by the Ministry themselves if they had nowhere else to go, and she knew _that_ was not something she wanted to see happening.

"A lot _is_ going to happen," Lavi said with an absolute surety that Linali knew came from whatever it was that he and Bookman did over the summers, travelling the world and looking at history. Getting their noses involved in everything. "And probably a lot is going to change, too. But that's life, ain't it?"

He has his chin propped in one hand, skewing the slant of his smile into something almost real. It might be. They like to pretend that it is.

"I've never thought ours would," Linali said softly, and her she felt lighter than it had in years. "But I guess we'll have to see."

She wasn't sure if it was freedom she tasted, or just the looming promise of being able to free-fall until she dashed herself upon a cliffside, put herself back together, and walk away.

"C'mon," Lavi said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. He certainly looked like a friend. "Time for class!"

The clock tower was tolling.

She reached out and let him help her up.

* * *

. . .

* * *

rivelio: from 'rivelare' as opposed to latin 'revelare'  
merda di dio: 'merda' is shit and 'dio' is god, put them together how you want  
porco due: 'porco' is pig, 'due' is a nonsense placeholder for 'dio'. soft swear words...  
babbano: official italian translation for 'muggle', from 'babbeo', which means fool / to be fooled. nato-babbano is muggle-born, also official.  
boundebloom: original. from 'bound' as in 'bind', and bloom. a flower with long leathery petals and leaves that can be used to tie things up, improper harvesting and contact with dirt tends to make it roll itself up into a ball. takes lots of crooning to make it unroll. bounces, too.  
ficus elastica is a real plant! gummy ficus is not.  
Rose Cross Institute for the Obsolete is not... really a school. not really. it barely meets the requirements for being called a school.


	4. charcoal and rye and things that lie

heavy. like lead. more backstorying.

notes: uhhh minor bug squick when allen shows up at the common rooms. some zalgo text at the end. should show up fine, but if it doesn't, the zalgo'd text isn't required reading it's just there for Aesthetics.

for the curious, it's currently about 2 weeks into october. time is real but is also a lie.

* * *

 **4: tastes like charcoal and rye and things that lie.**

* * *

Allen was never sure what to think about winter.

He'd been likened to the snow too many times to count, from his hair to.. just his hair actually. It was mahogany before, a reddish sort of brown that looked too much like Cross's hair for both of their comforts.

Not that _nearly white_ was any less conspicuous, but Allen had gotten used to seeing it in the mirror by now. It'd take a few more years before he felt alright having his hair color match Cross's.

For now, he liked it white. And Neah was more than happy to take over Cross's job of _keeping_ it white, or as white as he could make it.

Which was why Allen's hair now looked like old lace that'd been sitting in the attic too long instead of its usual eggshell color.

"You're terrible at this, uncle."

"I hate Transfiguration," Neah chirped, smiling back at Allen in the mirror. "You look _fine_."

Allen frowned, picking at the longer strands. "It doesn't match my shirt anymore."

Neah clapped both hands on Allen's shoulders. " _Wear a yellow shirt_. It's Saturday. No one will care."

True enough. Allen had seen his peers going around in jackets, jeans, sweatpants, all manner of 'normal' clothes lately. Wizard robes weren't necessarily the warmest thing on the planet, unless one had the money to shell out for one Charmed with heat retention or self-heating spells.

..Which technically they did, and they _could_ , now that Allen had more or less stopped sprouting like a weed. He should look into that at some point, or some other method or keeping warm but mobile. He'd seen Harry and his group going around with a bit of blue-colored fire in a jar.

"Uncle," he said, turning around after straightening out his collar again. "Do you know of anything I can carry around to keep myself warm? Besides 20 blankets and a bucket of coal."

His uncle looked at him from the liquor cabinet, already holding a bottle.

"...Never mind. Is that brandy? At 8 in the morning, Neah?"

"It's an 8-in-the-morning sort of problem."

"Are you sure it's not an _all day_ problem?"

Neah's eyebrows went up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh," Allen said, trying not to sigh. "Nothing."

Sometimes, he really feared for his uncle's liver.

Allen had intended to hang out around the fireplace to do some homework, but Neah was always a little.. odd when he was drinking, so he ended up in the library. Not odd the way Cross was odd, although he suspected Neah must have picked up the drinking habit from someone. He counted himself lucky that neither of them were the, well, unlikable sort of drunks. Whenever they managed to drink enough to actually get drunk.

Cross drank like he was trying to distract himself, going out and cavorting with any 'beautiful people' he could find. Most of the time they weren't even magical folk.

Neah, as Cross described it, drank like he was trying to drown out his own thoughts.

 _"Best to leave him to it,"_ Cross had said, a few days before Allen was supposed to meet his uncle. _"Drinking's good medicine for things like this, as long as he doesn't do anything to you. If he does, use the TeleFloo and call me... Actually, jinx him black and blue first, **then** call me."_

He hadn't needed to, yet, and hoped he never would.

On the plus side, Allen was _really good_ at Deodorizing Charms now, and he and Neah had been working on something for hangovers that didn't involve actual hair from a three-headed-dog's tail, a Liondragon egg yolk, and spittle squeezed from a Albanian muddy toad. Not that it hadn't been _effective_ , but the ingredients and recipe had ended up being too complex to get and produce for someone suffering from double vision.

...Hangover cures was probably not what Snape wanted addressed in their writing assignment, but an antidote was an antidote, even if it wasn't as 'commonly known' as the assignment called for. It wasn't like anyone else was going to read his dissection and study of a self-concocted remedy for something as inane as a hangover.

"Kneazles?"

Allen looked up from the book he was poring over. "..Ms. Seymound?"

"Malinda." The girl cheeked a smile at him. "Allen?"

"If you must." He smiled back. "I'm still working on Snape's essay."

"..Is there an antidote that uses Kneazles in it?"

"Mine does. Have you finished yours yet?"

"More or less. I picked something out of _1001 Topical Toxins and How To Treat Them_. Mum swears by everything in there. Mind if I sit?" Allen made a vague gesture to indicate _yes, she can sit_ , and she slid into the seat across from him at the table. "Now, _Trelawney_."

"I hear everyone just makes up stuff for her homework," Allen said humorously. "I wonder how she does her grading? Creativity and originality? Or an uncanny eye for details?"

"I think she just likes tragedies. Everyone in my dorm takes turns 'predicting' everyone's deaths. Anisa said I'd suffocate from a Bat Bogey Hex gone wrong once."

He tried really hard not to snort out a laugh. He failed. "Oh, gross!"

She was grinning at him. He could tell it was about something other than his reaction, because she looked very self-satisfied about something, too.

"...What are you smiling at?" he asked, rubbing his cheek with his free hand. "Did I get ink on my face?"

"Nah, it's just— it's just something silly." She shook her head. "Y'know, you should drop by the common rooms sometime, especially if you need any help with homework. And it's warmer besides. Well, once you get past the cold dungeons part."

"Oh. Um... I'll try? I don't really go in that direction too often, except for Potions. I don't really have a reason to."

"It's your own House! That's all the reason you need."

Allen laughed, then ducked his head when he quite literally _felt_ the librarian's glare through three rows of bookshelves. "We don't have houses at _Rosa Croce_ , so I don't really understand how it all works. It just seems to make things more complicated."

"Hogwarts was founded by four different people, which is where the Houses come from.. I've heard there's a few other schools that are like that too."

"That would explain it. I mean, I don't really know how many founders _Rosa Croce_ had. We don't exactly learn about our school's history."

Malinda looked shocked. "You don't?! That... that sounds... I don't know, actually. That sounds kind of cool? We're not exactly tested on Hogwarts history, but pretty much everyone is kind of expected to know it already. Well, the ones that aren't Muggle-born, anyway. I can't imagine not knowing anything at all about your school, though."

Allen smiled in a way he hoped was disarming. He scratched idly at the back of his hand. "I don't think _Rosa Croce_ has as many students as Hogwarts does.. or that much of a history. We know enough about it."

"Doesn't sound as though you like that school very much," she said. "Bad crowd?"

"Not really! Just... okay, maybe a little bit."

If she only knew.

"Well, I hope you have a better time here at Hogwarts." Malinda took out a heavy tome that Allen recognized as their text reference for Divination. "I like to think of this place as home away from home. My family hasn't got many wizards in it, see, so using magic at home is a bit more.. well. Difficult."

"I thought everyone in Slytherin was a.. what was it, Pureblood?"

" _Merlin_ , no." She made a face. "There's a lot of them— us —who like to think that, but Purebloods are really rare these days. They all pretend they're Pureblood though."

"..Why would they do that?"

"Halfbloods are fine," she said flippantly, even as Allen withheld a cringe. _Halfblood_. "But it's the Muggle-borns that no one here likes. I don't know if we have any in Slytherin."

"With that kind of attitude towards them, I don't blame them for lying about it."

"Did you lie about yours?"

Allen looked up sharply, his quill scratching a jagged line across half of the parchment.

"Oh- oh! Sorry!" Malinda yelped, immediately taking out her wand. "Sorry, let me— I'll clean that up for you—"

"It's fine," he said. "Sorry, that was—"

"Bit sudden of me to ask that. I wasn't thinking, sorry. It's just—" She made a flustered gesture before remembering that she was still holding her wand, and put it away before she knocked over someone's stack of books or something. "—Well, that is. I haven't.. told anyone about my parents either. I know some of them suspect it— Anisa knows, our families have always been good friends. She doesn't like that I want to hide it, but..."

Allen thought back to all the times he heard Malfoy calling someone a _Mudblood_.

"I never knew my parents," he said. He tapped his wand on the parchment and siphoned off the errant scrawling ink. "I don't... remember much about them. I'm adopted, see— my father knew my birth parents, which is how I ended up with him. At least I think he did. I can't recall anything, and my uncle doesn't know them either... but he wasn't really around much."

Allen paused.

"...Actually, I have no idea where my uncle came from. I can't believe I never thought about that before. He just started sending me letters out of the blue last year."

Malinda stared at him, open-mouthed. "And you just _wrote back_ without thinking about it? What if he's lying? What if— _what if he's some weird psycho kidnapping mass murderer?_ "

He opened and closed his mouth several times, and then decided that _'I'm pretty sure he is one'_ was probably not the best thing to say.

"I think he's fine?" Wow, he didn't sound very convincing. "Hang on, I thought the Campbells were practically famous? And weren't murderers?"

She leaned in close and lowered her voice to a whispery hiss. " _He could be lying about being a Campbell._ "

Allen wondered why he'd never considered that option before.

"He looks like my dad," was all he could think to say. It was true? "..A little. They've got the same, uh... eye-crinkle. You know? When people smile? Their eyes do the— okay, bad example. But they do look alike, and my guardian says it's true too, and I'd rather not be a complete orphan?"

He paused again.

"That came out wrong."

Malinda made a noise that suggested she agreed, but didn't really know how to put it into words. He appreciated the effort.

"Your, um. Your uncle isn't your guardian? He's the Campbell, right?"

"He's... _supposed_ to be.." Allen muttered something under his breath about vaguely irresponsible adult figures. "I think they're having paperwork issues."

Not to mention Cross was sort of... off doing something or other, somewhere in Europe.

"Paperwork?"

"Mmm." He shuddered. It was a sound of discomfort. "Paperwork."

She, wisely, did not ask of it any further.

"So, you haven't got any idea of your blood status? Not even a clue?"

Allen shrugged. "Blood status wasn't important in _Rosa Croce_. None of us really cared to find out."

"Everyone thinks you're a Campbell here, anyway. One of the best families to have at your back, I hear. Used to be, anyway."

His writing slowed down to a crawl again until he stopped halfway through a word, and then promptly forgot what it was he'd meant to write.

"..Used to be?"

Malinda looked at him weird. Wynford did mention that the Campbells were notoriously wealthy— though the very fact that he'd said _notoriously_ should've told Allen all he needed to know. Good families were never known to be notorious about anything.

"Draco asked his dad about it, apparently. A few weeks ago. Said that the only wizarding Campbell family worth knowing went missing _years_ ago. No one knows what happened to them."

 _Toenails_ , he told himself and forced his hand to keep writing. _Kneazle toenails may be substituted in absence of their hairballs. Grind thoroughly with mortar and pestle before adding to cauldron, to properly counteract the toxic effects of_ —

"Zabini, that third year friend of Malfoy's? He heard they'd been killed off. Freak accident or something. It's all they've been talking about the past few days. Kinda creepy, really. Them, I mean, not the Campbells. I think I've seen your uncle around, Allen, he's not bad."

"Thanks," Allen said dully, and then felt a bit like an idiot. "He's a real nightmare."

She grinned. "How come he's staying at the castle? We've all tried to ask Snape, but he won't say anything. Figured it was top secret, except no one's really got the guts to ask the Headmaster."

"If Snape won't tell you, why would I?"

"Oh, _come on_!" She whined, then clapped her hands over her mouth and looked around to see if Madam Pince was going to show up. "...This is the gossip of the _century_! —Well, no, maybe of the school year. Maybe just of this term. Your family's like, _ghosts_ , Allen. They're ghosts."

Allen thought about Mana. Thought about holding Mana's hand when they crossed streets. About Mana helping him reach things too high up, about how it took weeks for Allen to let Mana pat him on the head for doing something right. He thought about Mana's hugs.

"They're not ghosts," he said, with a smile that felt more painful than it looked. "Pretty sure ghosts don't down an entire bottle of extra-strength Firewhiskey in one sitting."

"Ew," Malinda grimaced. "He _does_ that?"

"Why do you think I'm out here instead of in my room," Allen replied, completely devoid of any humor whatsoever.

"That's... That's really quite awful of him?"

"I think he's working on it. " He shrugged. "Oh, you said you were working on Trelawney's assignment, right? Do something with ghosts! Like... you'll meet the ghost of a vengeful ancestor whom your great-great-grandfather wronged by putting his shoes on in the wrong order, thus dooming you to a life of haunting and incessant scolding every time you so much as touch a pair of clogs."

"Are you sure you're not a mind-reader?" she said lowly and with a rising sort of cautious alarm. "Because there's a painting in our house foyer that does _exactly that_ —"

/ / /

" _Frigidi_."

The gray bricks began twisting and pulling away, not unlike the wall leading into Diagon Alley.

"How do you know what the password is? It changes, right?"

"It's written on the inside if it changes, or if it's about to change," Malinda said. "As long as you keep an eye out for it, you can't get locked out."

Given that Allen didn't really plan on coming back any time soon, he promptly forgot about this bit of information as soon as the common room was visible.

"Hey guys!" she called out, jumping through the hole in the wall. "Guess who I managed to pry out of the library?"

"Madam Pince?" someone said.

Allen tried to imagine the librarian outside the library. He managed a fuzzy image of her in the courtyards before his mind shut it out for his own safety and sanity. He shuddered.

"I don't think she can survive even a minute outside her natural habitat," he said solemnly as he climbed in through the doorway. "She might... I don't know. Evaporate."

"Is that Walker?" piped a voice from the chair near the fireplace. "Thought you said you weren't ever gonna come in here."

"Hello to you too, Glenmoor." He grinned and waved at his Divinations tablemate. "Ms. Seymound is very convincing when she wants to be."

" _Malinda_."

"Ow, ow, yes, okay, _Malinda_." Allen curled away from the elbow digging into his ribs. " _Ms. Malinda_ is very convincing."

The room wasn't too full, luckily. He'd been prepared to bolt if there were more than a handful of people in the common room. Classrooms he could sit through as a necessity, but he wasn't exactly willing to spend much time around that many people if he could help it otherwise.

As long as he left before curfew, he figured he'd be fine.

"I'll admit, I _do_ have ulterior motives for coming here."

"You wanna copy my Diviniations paper after all?"

"No, Glenmoor. I wouldn't want to copy your pithy predictions if my entire future depended on it."

Glenmoor gasped, putting both hands to his chest like he'd been hit with a particularly strong Stunner. "How _dare_ you say such things to me, Walker."

" _Flobberworms_ , mate. Who in the world predicts that they'll be _eaten by Flobberworms_?"

"Getting devoured by Flobberworms is a perfectly fine nightmare to have!" he mock-cried, and was promptly struck in the face by a pillow.

"They don't even have _teeth_ ," hissed Adler, who had thrown the pillow from where she was sitting across from Glenmoor. "What'd they do, _swallow you whole_? Oh, yeah, that's _terribly frightening_ and _absolutely_ something I want to be thinking about for the rest of the evening. _Thanks, Slàine_."

"You're welcome, Bindy. And for your information, I wasn't talking about your _garden variety_ Flobberworm. Apparently someone in Bulgaria went and bred a one with a Flesh-Eating Slug..."

"I'm never coming back," Allen whispered loudly to Malinda. He caught the pillow that was sent in his direction with a laugh. Maybe it wasn't so bad in here. "So, I heard someone's been talking about me. Well, about the Campbell family?"

A few more heads popped up in his peripheral vision from various chairs and tables.

He slid on a grin, nice and cheerful. Just like he'd seen Neah do countless times before.

"I want to hear more about this."

* * *

Neah Campbell was not a stranger to seeing shapes in the shadows, dogging his every step.

He was not a stranger to having enemies, and even less of a stranger to having not a single ally to his name. Although, if one asked very specifically, in a very certain kind of way, he _might_ admit to Marian being one of the few people he counted as 'on his side'. At this point he would take them where he could find them.

The problem was, of course, finding them.

Noah's Academy was, in hindsight, quite possibly the worst sort of learning environment for a child to grow up in. He really was rather proud of himself for destroying it when he did. The Rose Cross Institute was... only mildly better, from what Marian and Allen had to say of it.

But Marian had been at Noah's Academy with him, and Allen was _Allen_. Neah could only take the truth of their words so far.

Allen was starting to get as good as Neah was at lying through his teeth, except for the small fact that Allen only ever lied about how things affected him. Small things.

Neah did not lie about small things. Small things were too inconsequential and numerous, not worth lying about anymore. He was making progress on the bigger ones, though. It helped that Marian had finally caught on after an entire decade.

Still. The problem here was Allen. Allen, and how he was almost too uncautious for his own good.

The boy returned to their shared dorm with a look on his face that Neah well all too well. It was the sort of look that Marian used to find on him.

He described it as something torn between a hollow acceptance and all-consuming guilt, which, Neah figured, was actually quite accurate. Though he had more of the hollowness, and Allen just looked like he'd been forced to the most unspeakable things.

Not wrong.

"That's quite a look you've got there, Allen," Neah said from couch in front of the fireplace.

"I visited the Slytherins," his nephew said morosely. "Are you done drinking?"

"Mm." Mostly. He felt better now. "Sorry you can't have any."

"I don't want any. Nor do I _need_ it."

"Don't you?"

Allen looked at him funny. He came over to the couch Neah was in, dropped his bag next to it, and took the only other available seat. Rather than answering a rhetorical question, Allen stared into the fireplace.

Neah turned the page in his book, allowing it to continue reading itself aloud. For the next while, it was the only sound in the room, besides the crackling fire and popping wood.

There was a question on his nephew's tongue. It wasn't hard to tell; he was only a boy, only a child, and while the both of them were adept at reading _and_ deceiving people, Neah had been doing it for over twice as long as Allen had been alive.

Plus. Allen was just really easy to read sometimes.

Neah turned another page. The Oratus Charm really didn't do a good job of emulating Marian's verbal tics from the writing, but he supposed that was all the better for classroom purposes. No one needed to hear Marian running every other word together and trying hold back a swear every time Neah made some off-hand commentary.

"So?" he asked, finally. He did not elaborate.

Neither did Allen.

"So, what?"

" _So_... you've been watching wood burn for the past half an hour."

"Sometimes you just want to watch the wood burn," Allen said, dully.

"Here I thought you would've wanted to save it."

"Obviously you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Neah hid a smile behind the next page. "Don't I?"

Unfortunately, it seemed that was the last straw that Allen was able to handle. "Okay, what is up with you today?"

"I don't know what you mean, Allen."

" _You_ —" Allen made a series of frustrated sounds and movements that ultimately culminated in refusing to look at Neah at all, instead choosing to cross his arms and sulk down into his seat. "Why do you always sound like you know exactly what I've been doing all day? Did you— _jinx_ me with a bug or something? Are you sending people to spy on me?"

"Good lord, nephew. I'm not _Rosa Croce_ ," Neah stated, the words leaving behind a taste like unfiltered tap water. Sharp and metallic. "You walked out of here chipper as could be this morning, and you come back at—"

He checked the clock.

"—9pm, looking like you've kicked someone's puppy. Or killed someone. Did you kill someone?"

Allen's head turned to him slowly, almost like a doll, only far more fluid and concise in execution. The fact that he did it silently just made it all the more eerie.

"..I'm not _you_ , uncle."

Neah _laughed_. "And aren't we glad for that?"

He used the flesh-colored string attached to the spine to mark his place in the book, despite instructions on the inside cover clearly stating _not_ to do that, lest it be damaged. The side effects of using a damaged Auricular Enhancer included injury to the eardrums and loss of hearing, subsequent nausea and dizziness and the staunch belief that one was, in fact, a hatchling denizen of the Finnish Dragon Sanctuary.

In other words, no big deal. Neah snapped the book shut and set it down in his lap, drawing his legs up to cross them where he sat.

"You're still _here_ ," he said.

Allen was looking away again, unresponsive. Quite possibly ignoring Neah, which was fine. The important thing was that he hadn't yet left the room.

"Allen," Neah repeated.

The boy's head snapped up like he'd just realized something. When he looked at Neah again, it was with all the shock and surprise of someone who'd just been caught eating their birthday cake out of the fridge the day before the party.

In Allen terms, this usually meant getting ready to drop a load of bullshit in order to get himself out of this situation. Marian had warned him about things like this.

"-Sorry, I was, um. Thinking about... stuff."

" _Stuff_."

"Yes, stuff."

Neah hummed. " _Allen_."

It took all of two seconds to go from 'about to lie his ass off' to 'sulking like an actual child' again.

"Don't you _Allen_ me like that," he huffed. Neah blinked at him. "...Like I said. I went to the Slytherin common rooms."

"Oh," Neah said, utterly despondent. "Oh _no_."

Allen rolled his eyes. "It was fine, there weren't that many people there. Nothing happened. It's just.. Well. They were asking about you."

That didn't sound particularly concerning.

"You and Mana."

 _Ah._

"Ah."

Allen dropped his hands into his lap and fiddled with the root fingers of his left hand, still hidden behind a layer of illusory Charms. Neah was still casting it for him at this point, though Allen was learning slowly how to do it himself. When he wasn't opting to just cover it with a pair of gloves, anyway. Apparently he'd been doing that a lot back in _Rosa Croce_.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as welcoming to the idea of having a highly venomous plant for an arm. Honestly? Neah didn't blame them.

Didn't mean it didn't suck.

"They said you're supposed to be dead, Neah," Allen said quietly. "Mana, too. Malfoy's been asking around and apparently the Campbells are pretty famous? What did you guys _do_?"

"Why is the Malfoy boy even so curious?" Neah's eyebrows went up. "Did you say something bad to him."

Allen looked away, but more out of self-conscious embarrassment than anything. "...I kind of threatened him? I, um. Told him not to rag on Mana again or I'd, y'know. Jinx his toes off."

"Well, that would certainly get his jimmies twisted enough to dig up history from decades ago," Neah mused. "I hope you added to these rumors."

"Oh, god, yeah," Allen said with a snort. "I think I said something about a coup in the Seychelles that you gatecrashed? And that you hexed Mussolini's corpse into dancing in his coffin."

"Allen," Neah said. "This isn't to say I wouldn't do something like that, because I absolutely would, but I'm 50. 52. Not 80."

"That's not what Cross says."

"Cross Marian is an immortal hellion who has assumed various identities in the 30—" Neah stopped to count off on his fingers. "... _40_ years I've known him. He looks as good now as he did on the day he turned 25. It's _maddening_."

"I'm not going to agree or disagree with that," Allen said robotically, "but is this actually true or are you pulling my leg? Again?"

"...Yes." Neah said, very confident. Allen made the most constipated face Neah had ever seen before, so he elaborated. "I'm quite sure he's changed his name a few times. And he does look amazing. Still looks amazing."

Allen seemed like he had something else to say, but abandoned it in favor of glancing rapidly back and forth between Neah and the stairwell leading to his room, as though calculating whether he would make it there in time to escape.

Neah smiled at his nephew and leaned in, eyes alight. "And? What else?"

"I— I don't actually remember." If that was a lie, it was a very good one. Neah was tempted to let him off the hook on the mere principle of managing a convincing lie. "I said a lot of things? They kept insisting you and Mana were supposed to be dead, and every time they did, I just—"

Allen mimicked the motions of vomiting, but without any actual heaving, and more like he was trying to describe the physical sensation of astral projection.

"Have I ever told you that you're my favorite nephew, Allen?"

"Um." Allen seemed to physically recoil at the thought of being anyone's favorite anything. "I'm your only nephew?"

"My _only_ favorite nephew." Neah grinned and reached out to ruffle his head. "Tell them whatever you want, alright? The less they actually know about the Campbells, the better."

His hand was swatted away once and then returned with a vengeance. Allen suffered the headrub with a slightly flustered look.

"What's so special about the Campbells?"

Neah took his hand back before it turned into a death grip. "The less _you_ know about the Campbells, Allen, the better."

"That sounds ominous."

"It's meant to be. C'mere."

"...What."

"I _said_." Neah reached out again as Allen leaned sharply away. He caught his nephew by the shoulder and pulled him in when he didn't show any immediate signs of revulsion, throwing an arm around him and digging knuckles into the top of his head. " _C'mere, boy_."

Allen squawked. He kept squawking. He squawked and he flailed and he laughed, whined, _ow, stop! Stop!_ until Neah finally let him go.

"Any homework left you need to do?"

"Nothing I can't finish up tomorrow," Allen said, shooting Neah a glare. The effect of it was ruined by the fact that he was unable to hold back a smile. "Why?"

"Want to listen to the rest of Marian's book with me? The first one, anyway."

"...Isn't it your book, too? Don't you already know everything in it?"

"I know everything that it's _about_ , which doesn't really help when trying to construct a lesson plan based on it."

" _Euugghh_." Allen made a face, but scooted over anyway. Neah didn't make any move to pull him closer this time, instead letting him find a comfortable distance at which to stop on his own. "It's not going to be Cross reading, is it?"

"God, no. We couldn't pay anyone enough to Charm that level of accuracy into the entire line of books." Neah sighed heavily, cracking open the book i his lap again. "Pity, really."

"You're probably the only one who actually _likes_ listening to him talk. Besides himself."

"He's got suitors, too, Allen. Lovely lot, actually. Have you ever met them?"

" _Have I ever met them_."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Allen groaned and kicked his legs up onto the table. Neah did the same. Everything important had already been moved off of it earlier, anyway.

He opened to book to where he had left off and got halfway down the page when Allen spoke up again.

"..Neah?"

"Hmm?"

"Weren't you born in Italy? Or raised there?"

Neah looked over. Allen had taken off his shoes and was now staring at his sock covered toes. Neah wondered what he would've looked like with a plant for a leg, too.

"Mana and I left England when our parents died," he said, soft over the Oratus Charm's enchanted reading. "That would've been... some time after Mussolini kicked he bucket. Wish I could've been there to hex his corpse though."

"Did you move into Italy, then? Er. Into the Vatican?"

"I've never lived in Italy, Allen. Did Mana not tell you any of this?" Allen shook his head after a moment. Neah frowned. "Nor Marian?"

"...I didn't even know Cross knew that much about you? He never said anything. I.. well, I thought he was just being.. respectful of your privacy and such." Allen glanced over, then made another face at the face Neah was making. "I know he's nothing like that _now_! I'm not _that_ much of an idiot."

"He'd spill our entire life and history to a stranger if he thought he could get them on our side," Neah said, entirely deadpan. If he let any emotion creep into his voice it would probably tip over into catastrophically mild irritation. "Yours, too, Allen."

Neah was highly tempted to say some very colorful things at the very idea of suddenly gaining 'allies' who knew everything about him, Mana, and Marian, all because _Marian couldn't mind his own business_. Except he did, and the problem was that his business was Neah's business, and there was just no escaping the man's general impulsiveness.

"If he didn't say anything, he likely just didn't want to. Some things don't feel good when they're dredged up." He rubbed at the side of his face, like he was trying to feel out an old bruise. "We only went to school in Vatican City, we never lived in Italy itself. Marian, too, though I don't know where he's from or where he stayed. He was a few years ahead of us. Not that it mattered much. Not for schools like Noah's Academy. You know?"

"Mmm." Allen dropped his head onto Neah's shoulder as he went back to staring into the fireplace. Neah flicked his finger towards it and sent the dying flames roaring up again.

"We used the Floo thing to get to the school, mostly, since it was long distance. First time I saw Marian, we were both covered in soot. Mana made fun of him for it, he was so offended."

"You didn't?"

"Oh of course I did, but I actually look the type to make fun of someone for being covered in fireplace dust." Neah gave his nephew an impish smile. Or as impish as he remembered it being, a few decades ago. No telling how well that kind of thing held up over time. "Mana doesn't. Usually."

"...Usually."

"Usually. We were 11, Allen. I suppose he was behaving a lot more responsibly when he adopted you, Allen. Adoption is a pretty responsible thing to do."

" _Usually_."

"..That doesn't sound good."

Allen shook his head again. "Not Mana. Cross is just... you know."

"Ah, _him_." Neah clucked his tongue as he turned to the next page. "Cross is not actually allowed to adopt you, just so you know. If he tries, punch him."

At that, Allen lifted his head to give Neah a bewildered look. "Why isn't he..? I thought he was already my guardian?"

"As far as Hogwarts is concerned, yes. We weren't sure how talk would spread if an actual Campbell were to be listed as your guardian, so Dumbledore let us apply under just Marian. Technically, he _did_ take over guardianship of you after what happened to Mana, and _Rosa Croce_ allowed it for school purposes. There wasn't any viable reason for him to not accept it."

Allen looked like he hadn't processed a single word of what he just heard. Neah didn't blame him. It had taken him and Marian a while to work out paperwork issues together, and he still only barely understood most of it. He didn't want to think about what _Babbano_ adoption was like.

"But why isn't he allowed to adopt me? Or at all?" Allen's confused face flatlined into something pinched and judging. "Is he banned from adopting kids."

"No, just banned from adopting you." Neah wished he'd kept some snacks nearby. This would've been a perfect time to start eating. "I called dibs."

"But I was already adopted by Mana, right? And you're actually related to Mana by blood, so are you allowed to adopt me? Do you even need to?"

Allen stopped, and then frowned.

"I can't be adopted _twice_ , can I?"

"You know," Neah said, slowly, "that's a _very_ good question. I'll have to ask Marian that next time."

"...And you call yourselves my _dads_ ," Allen finally said after a long, long moment of unbroken book-reading.

"I never said we were actually dad material," Neah hummed thoughtfully. "You didn't seem to have a problem with that before."

"Uncle. I have so many problems, I don't even know where to begin."

Neah turned the page. "Let's start with, _Name two things about Cross Marian that really piss you off_."

"Only two? Not more? At least 20."

"...Sure, why not. Name twenty things about Cross Marian that really piss you off."

/ / /

They never got past 15, because after 10, Neah started chipping in with his own contributions and derailing Allen's thought trains. What should have been a rather domestic bonding session between uncle and nephew talking about their innermost issues instead turned into an entire hour of blunt-force lambasting one of the few people they had in common.

Cross _bloody_ Marian.

The entire thing ended with Allen falling asleep on the couch after they finally managed to stop laughing so that Neah could finish his book. Which he did, since it was close to the end anyway, and he'd only put it off to give Allen his undivided attention.

It was close to midnight when he decided to shake Allen awake. It might have been a weekend, but sleeping on the couch was no way to spend it, unless one had a very nicely Charmed one. And it was, but that meant of course that Neah had to claim it for his own.

Allen, however, did not want to wake.

"If you don't get up," Neah said quietly, "I'll hang you by your ankles and float you up to your room like that."

The boy groaned loudly and rolled over onto his stomach. An amazing feat, considering the lack of space.

"..This isn't my bed," he said.

"Well, no. You fell asleep on the couch."

"Oh."

Neah hefted the boy's arm over his shoulder. He had to bend a little to keep Allen's feet on the ground, but managed to trudge the both of them up the flight of stairs to the room Allen had claimed as his own.

A wand-flick cleared stay clothes from the bed, and another one tucked him in.

Looking around the room, Neah felt a strange sort of nostalgia settle into his bones. Allen's personal belongings consisted of various medieval items from his morbid curiosity for the witch hunt era, an actual coffin, and some really weird paintings hanging from the walls. Neah wasn't even really sure _where_ Allen managed to pick up these things.

Neah's room on the first floor was much... emptier. Having personal belongings wasn't a thing he'd never managed to get used to, so it remained as empty as it'd been when they first moved in. The placed seemed to have been used to house the various tenured professors, back when Hogwarts had more students. He supposed the somewhat-recent Wizarding War had something to do with the lowered attendance rate.

His old rooms had looked much the same, both at the Academy and in the mansion where he and Mana had grown up. Impeccably clean and impersonal. He didn't like being in them then any more than he liked it now.

Allen's wasn't so bad, though. Marian had told him it once that it was on the more unsettling end of things, so Neah had automatically decided he was going to like it, and he did.

Maybe could start by putting a few skulls in his room. Those always seemed to set Marian off, even after he'd taken to carrying around a dead body with him at all times.

"Uncle?"

Neah looked over. Allen was still in bed, but had rolled over onto his side again. He looked very sleepy and seemed to be having a hard time keeping his one good eye open.

"Yes, Allen?"

"Wanted to ask before I forget tomorrow," Allen murmured. "Where did you and Mana go? After you left England. Y'weren't avoiding that, were you?"

"Why would I avoid something like that?" Neah laughed. He had a million lies on the top of his tongue, and settled instead for— "We ended up in Portugal. The Campbell family owns an estate there. Mana and I lived in the manor house when we weren't in school."

"Until you ran away, right? Cross mentioned that much."

"He takes all the easiest parts for himself." Neah's smile tightened.

"What was it like there?"

"Curious, aren't you?" His face softened though, and he sat down on the edge of Allen's bed. He could indulge in a bit of reminiscing every now and then.

"..It's warm there. A lot more than Scotland, and a lot of rain, too. The house was in the middle of a wheat field, between Alandroal and the Spanish border. They used to grow wheat there— everyone in Alentejo did, even the wizards. Of course, there weren't many wizards to begin with, so you had to grow your own foodstuffs or buy from the Muggles, the _Babbano_. Father, the one who took us in, didn't like associating with them, and magic made growing things easier, anyway. He had people around the place to do the work while we studied, mostly, sometimes played with visiting relatives.. I liked running out into the fields before harvest. Mana used to always nag me about falling asleep out there, in the springtime... If there's anything I'll always remember, it's being woken up just before sunset. Watching the swath of green-gold turn to a lake of rippling red and orange. Like a field of.."

"Like fields of fire," Allen murmured, in a tone so familiar that it took Neah a moment to respond.

"Yeah," he said. Like a field of fire. "..Did Mana tell you that?"

"Yeah," Allen parroted back, mumbled into his pillow. Then he went silent.

Neah looked over and realized he'd fallen asleep again, and decided to leave it at that.

He was smiling as he left, easing the door shut behind him. He went back down to the common room and settled onto the couch again, this time with a blanket and another book, the first in the series of three that he and Marian had penned together.

Allen had been right, though. He _did_ already know the contents, had read them often enough that he could likely regurgitate then word for word when prompted, albeit more gracefully and with much more feeling than the Oratus Charm did. At this point it was no longer about refreshing his knowledge of the subject. The only difficult thing about making lesson plans was how to actually _teach_ in an effective manner. Something he might try consulting Marian about, if not one of the teachers here at Hogwarts.

Neah wasn't rereading all three books over and over to make sure he knew what he'd be talking about next year. He just wanted to relive the memories of everything he and Marian had done while researching for the books.

Because he was _so god damned bored here._

* * *

 _"Wake up, *̶̡͚̖̯͇͈͔̣̑ͫ̑͑̑̃̄̈́͢ͅl̡͉̩͇͓̯̗̲̻̩͒ͣͤͬ̓͒͠*̠̲̠ͦ̉̎̊͌͢e̤̮͔͈̯̙̤̖ͩ̃͟$̡̱͔̘̦̽̈ͬ͂ͨͪ̓."_

Allen stirred.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he didn't have to wake up yet. It was still the weekend, wasn't it? He was allowed to sleep in on weekends now.

 _"Wake uuuppp."_

"I'm up, I'm up," he groaned, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. Both shoulders, because plants apparently knew how to feel sore, too. "..Wh't time is it?"

 _"Hey. **͚͇̞͉̟͕̜̙͑ͫ̄̌͒ͅe̘͓͙̲̰͐ͨͬ*̫͂̿͒ͧ͆̚̕͟͝$̛̜̮̟̠͔̭͕ͥ̃a͚͈̪͒̇̂͌ͦͣ*̷͎͖͈̥̙͚ͬ̀́̆ͩ̔̌. Wake up, sleepyhead."_

"I'm _awake_ already, I'm—"

He'd gotten halfway out of bed when he realized the room was, in fact, empty. The curtains had not been thrown open— it looked like it was still dark out, actually —and the door was in its usual not-quite-shut state.

 _"Are you going to sleep forever?"_

Allen shut his eyes and rubbed at them with the palm of his hand, hard, until white spots blinked in the darkness. It'd been a while since he had nightmares like that, dreamt of things like that. It'd been a while since they followed him into the waking world, too.

 _"It's getting cold out. You can sleep again when we're inside."_

He was definitely going to blame his uncle for bringing back memories like that. Granted, Allen had been the one to ask about it. He just hadn't expected it to sound so familiar to what he remembered of living with Mana, just about every detail down to spending time with distant relatives and running through fields of wheat.

Even the color of gold and orange and red, vivid washes of pink and violet as the night sky turned blue-black.

 _"Wake up, N̵̼̉̓̄̿͢*̻̙͔̩͚̭̏ͤ̋̆̾ͣ͌ė̵̴̵̼͖̑a̖̫̖͊͗͒̔̅̃̂*̭͇͈̭̞̮͍̭ͦ—"_

"Allen?"

He pried his face out of his hands with a muffled, sharp inhale.

His uncle stood at the doorway, shadows coalescing into a solid form and the whites of his eyes going dark again, then light up with the point of his wand. He must have flown up here.

"Are you okay?" Neah asked, without entering the room. Something that Allen both hated and appreciated. "I heard you moving around."

Allen's throat felt dry, thirsty, his tongue swollen and unmoving. Only after several swallows did he manage something that souned like words.

"What.. time is it?"

"Just around 4 in the morning."

No wonder it was dark out.

"..I'm fine. Just a.. a nightmare, I think."

Neah's head tipped to the side, the movement caught and highlighted by the light of his wand against the curve of his jaw.

"You think?"

Allen closed his eyes again. Colors bloomed once more behind his eyelids, gold, orange, red. Greens and pinks and violet. They were nostalgic, the colors of his time with Mana. Or they should've been.

Instead they seemed lurid, harshly bright, and thinking about it only made him more nauseous.

He smiled, wan and twisted with practice. "Yeah. Just a nightmare. About what happened to Mana."

"Mm." Neah was quieter now and his wand lowered just slightly, enough to leave much of his face to the shadows again. "Did you need anything?"

He sounded stiff. Mechanical.

"No," Allen said. "I'm okay now."

He felt bad for playing that card sometimes, but it was always the easiest way to get out of a conversation with his uncle. Now Neah would feel like he'd done his duty as Allen's uncle, as Mana's brother, and retreat back downstairs, open up another bottle of wine or sherry or whatever else it was that the school was letting him keep in the dormitory. He'd have a glass or two, and if Allen wanted, he could wander down for a bit and Neah would finish off the entire bottle.

One day he would ask about it. Because he wanted to know why. He felt like he deserved to know, if they were going to keep living in the immediate space together for the year. Or the next few years.

Allen stayed in his room instead, even long after Neah left, trailing darkness like wisps of an ominous cloud.

He stayed in his room, in his bed, and tried to forget the smell of burning wheat. And in the morning (in the later hours of the morning) they would both wake up again and pretend this never happened, like always.

Mana was a chasm between them, and sometimes it was easier to keep shouting across the distance than to build a bridge and meet halfway.

/ / /

"..Walker?"

"Ms. Granger," Allen said without looking up. When he did, the Gryffindor girl had her mouth pursed and frowning. Her friends were nowhere in sight. "..Something wrong?"

"No," she said. "Just that.. I didn't expect to see anyone studying on a Sunday."

"Light reading," he said humorously, despite being surrounded by about a dozen books at his table. Allen looked at the tomes in her arms, recognizes titles for books related to several of the elective class choices. "What's your excuse?"

Granger looked like she didn't want to be caught dead speaking to him, but she hadn't stalked off yet either. "..I enjoy it. Studying."

"I don't." Allen almost laughed at the face she made, she looked so much like Lavi. Lavi _loved_ learning things and studying up on stuff that most of the world had forgotten ages ago. "..But I've got something I want to do, so I need to do well in school. You know how it goes."

"Hm." She looked down at his books. "What could you possibly need _Memory Charms_ for? Unless you plan to be an Obliviator for the Ministry."

"I'm trying to find the best way to make Malfoy forget I exist without leaving any irreparable damage."

She cracked a smile. "Then you might want to look at just _modifying_ memory. Or memory reversal, for mishaps."

He nodded. And then asked, out of nowhere, "D'you ever wonder what it's like to have a modified memory?"

"Oh—" Granger seemed visibly startled, but not so lost and confused that he couldn't determine that, yes. She had thought about it. "..Well, I know there's St. Mungos for those who've had Memory Charms used on them. I don't.. I've never had to consider something like that. Until recently. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year had one backfire on him, forgot everything about who he was."

"That sounds unfortunate."

"He was awful," she said, shoulders drawn like a bird ruffling its feathers. Her cheeks were a bit pink, though. "..But it was. Very, um.. uncomfortable to see. My parents used to talk about their grandparents getting old, and they had Alzheimer's— it's a Muggle disease? Where older folk start, um, forgetting things. I don't know that wizards have anything similar. Anyway, I thought he deserved it at first, because he'd been.. cheating people and Obliviating their memories for his own fame, but.. I can't imagine having to live with it."

"Yeah," Allen agreed. "Me neither."

It felt like grasping at smoke, just out of reach. Chasing a memory that might have been a dream. Might not even have been his own.

 _"Wake up... Neah, wake u—"_

"Thanks," he said. He smiled up at her. "Any ones in particular that you recommend?"

" _Well_ ," Granger began, chuffed. She set her books down and he glimpsed briefly at the titles without making it obvious that he was curious. She sifted through the pile he had amassed and selected out a few of them.

"I've read most of these, but I think, if you wanted something about living with a modified memory, then _My Life In The Mirror_ would be your best bet. It's probably in the biography section, so you don't have it here. _Connecting Tarot Cards_ , that one's a classic for learning Memory Charms, actually. Oh, and this one, too, _very_ informative..."

* * *

changed some divider formatting while trying out a new way to set up docs.

frigidi: latin. 'coldblooded'?

oratus: from latin 'orator' and/or italian 'oratore'. a charm designed to make a written piece read itself upon activation. magical screenreader for parchment. can be tweaked to sound like certain people, emulate eccentricites. like a howler, but nicer, and less mouths. wears off over time, leading to slurred or skipped words, or outright mispronunciations. is related to the talking canary from ch3.

auricular enhancer: basically like a hearing aid / earphone. contains an oratus charm to automatically read written text when attached to something. clean regularly for proper hygiene.

muggle / babbano: according to the hp wiki, the portuguese translation uses muggle as well. babbano is, again, italian.

thanks for all the feedback so far y'all. as always if you feel there's anything else i should probably warn for content-wise, pls let me know.


	5. a living breathing masquerade

hallowe'en pt 1

forewarning, tried my best with hagrid's accent and speaking style. if it's hard to understand lemme know where and i'll figure out how to reword things.

feels a little fluzzy bc i wrote this chap mostly impulsively.

anyway

 **warnings:** bit of capslock about halfway through, generic draco malfoy uses magical slurs warning, me

* * *

 **5: a living breathing masquerade.**

* * *

"..I really don't see what the problem is."

"The _problem_ , Allen, is that you're going to be one of the _few_ students not going to Hogsmeade!" Malinda declared, throwing her arms up into the air. " _The only Slytherin who isn't going._ "

"Shame of the House, you are," Glenmoor added.

Allen flicked his wand and sent a snowball flying into Glenmoor's face. "Says the one who can't even dodge a snowball."

"I'll hex you an ice pop, Walker!" Glenmoor sputtered, spitting out snow.

Allen ducked the flash of ice-white sent in his direction and ran ahead, laughing. He deflected the next one sent at him and it hit someone else instead.

"Oh, shit- Sorry! Let me-" Allen ducked another one. " _Stop it_ , Glenmoor, let me unfreeze her first!"

"Not until your arse is sticking to the ground, Walker."

Malinda stopped him mid-step with a Immobilizing Charm, leaving him unbalanced enough to topple over into a snowdrift.

"Thank you, Malinda."

"I could stick him to the ground, too," she said distantly, staring at her own wand in wonder. "I could do that."

"..It could be painful," Allen remarked, and not discouragingly. "Very painful."

Malinda thought about it for another second. Then she pulled her sleeves up with a determined look on her face. "Sorry, Glenmoor. You're going to be my testing dummy for practicing Arse-to-Ice Sticking Charm."

There was a muffled whimper from the snowdrift. Allen pretended he didn't hear it.

Malinda had not, in fact, managed to stick Glenmoor to the ground by the time he'd finished unfreezing the Ravenclaw girl and apologizing for Glenmoor's terrible aim. But she did get a bit of frost creeping up his leg a good ways before the Immobilizing Charm wore off and he was kicking and cursing his way out of a thin sheet of ice.

Glenmoor bewitched snowballs at the both of them the rest of the way to the Owlery. Then they were just wet and trying to knock each other down the stairs with blasts of hot air while drying off.

"Sorry for making you guys come with me," Allen said sheepishly. "I've never been up here myself. My uncle's always the one sending the letters since he has... so much free time... Unlike myself, the hardworking and studious nephew."

"Oh, don't mention it," Malinda said, chipper enough that he almost started laughing. "I _love_ going to the Owlery on a crisp October morning with icicles in my hair."

"The icicles were not my fault."

Glenmoor spun around. "Do you even _have_ spare time?"

He was walking upstairs backwards now, which Allen thought was both a tremendous feat and also a really stupid one. Also, he didn't need to lead the way anymore? Staircases only went two ways, and Allen's sense of direction wasn't _so_ bad that he'd end up going _downstairs_ instead of _up_ them.

"You didn't try out for the Quidditch team," he continued, "you don't watch the practices, you only ever come to the Great Hall for food. You've been to the common rooms _once_ in the month you've been here? Do you read all day like that Granger girl? Or Zezé?"

" _People scare me_ ," Allen said in a stage-whisper.

"This is why I like you!" Malinda crowed to the probably-not-empty Owlery tower. "You're not surrounded by a giant gaggle of gossiping gucks. It's easy to talk to you, Allen. Even if you're probably terrified right now."

"I'm always terrified. _There are over 1000 people in this castle._ "

"Yeah, but you only ever see half of them. Except at mealtimes and any of those.." Glenmoore paused. "..Big events."

"Big events," Allen repeated. "As in... special occasions?"

" _Big events_."

"I'm going to call them that from now on," Malinda laughed. "The next Quidditch match. A big event!"

"Technically, a school Quidditch match really is just. A big event. I mean, I don't know actually anything about Quidditch, this is just how I feel."

" _I don't need you on my side, Walker._ "

Glenmoor tripped, finally, and Malinda fell into a fit of giggles as he tried to get up. Allen did not help him one bit.

" _Shame of the House_ , all of you," he growled after finally finding his footing.

Allen grinned and grabbed him by the arm before he could fall again, while Malinda took the other one. Glenmoor scowled at them for all of two seconds, and then burst out laughing so hard that it nearly sent them all tumbling back down to the bottom of the tower. Malinda even let out a shrieking laugh as she nearly lost her balance.

"Who the _bloody hell_ — oh. It's _you lot_."

Malfoy had stuck his head out of the Owlery at the top of the stairs and was making his Malfoy face at them. The kind of face that said _'I'm a Malfoy and better than you, but I recognize that you're in my House and also older and I respect that as the only thing stopping me from thinking about shoving you down a moving staircase'_.

Allen only knew that because it was the only thing stopping him from doing the same to Malfoy. Neah and Cross were always going on about _teaching the younger generation to learn from our mistakes_ and apparently went through great pains not to treat him the way they treated each other (which was equal parts affection and hostility, and affectionate hostility, and also hostile affection).

Also, he'd probably be expelled if he did that? Even if Malfoy would probably survive.

He didn't hate Malfoy _that_ much to want him dead, besides. Not even mortally wounded. It was one thing to want _Kanda_ injured, but that was only because Kanda would hiss and spit and fight back, and then they'd end up in a mutual agreement to level a small building together.

Kanda was sturdy. Linali too, and Lavi, and Chaozi, and everyone else at _Rosa Croce_. They were... different.

Not like the students here.

 _"Weaker,"_ Neah said once, on their first night at Hogwarts. _"Weaker in strength. But stronger of heart. Greater in numbers. Sounder of mind."_

Allen felt that he had a very sound mind, thanks.

"Feeding pigeons, Malfoy?" he chirped.

Apparently Malfoy's idea of 'I don't like you' only consisted of scowling and anger, because that was all he ever did. Honestly, Allen hadn't actually expected Malfoy to manage some semblance of leaving him alone whenever possible. And at this point he couldn't just go up to Malfoy and say 'you can talk to me, but I still don't like you'. That would be awkward.

"I didn't know you sent mail, Draco," Malinda said.

"Of course I send mail, Seymound. I _have_ got parents who like to hear from me." Malfoy's eyes flickered at Allen briefly. He figured that was a rib at him, so he smiled back. "Writing to your _friends_ , Walker?"

"My former Headmaster, actually. I've been keeping him up-to-date on my schoolwork progress here, since classes here are so different from the ones in _Rosa Croce_."

It wasn't _entirely_ a lie, anyway, which would make it easier to corroborate later on. If necessary.

And, as expected, Malfoy didn't seem to have a response to that. He shared an odd look with his lackeys— friends? —and next to Allen, Glenmoor and Malinda did much the same. Was it that odd of a thing to do?

Then he remembered that probably very few schools had students who were immediately related to the Headmaster. Or acting Headmaster, in their case.

"What?" he said in response to their confused looks. "You all write to your parents, don't you? It's the same thing."

"..No it's not," Malinda said slowly. "Headmasters are... _old_."

"..Dumbledore doesn't count," Allen said. Dumbledore had to be over 100 from what he could recall.

"Alright, well, Dumbledore's the only Headmaster I know of, so I still think it's weird."

"Point taken. My old Headmaster is honestly like a mentor to all of us here. His little sister is one of my classmates and good friends."

"I thought you didn't like it there?" Malinda cocked her head at him. "Said it was a 'bad crowd'."

"I like... some of the people there."

She squinted at him.

Allen stepped aside and hopped up the stairs as fast as he could, Malinda chasing after him with a determined look on her face.

"You'll spill your tragic backstory to me one of these day, Allen Walker-Campbell!"

" _Over my rotten dead body_!"

Malfoy and his lack— _friends_ , friends. Malfoy and his friends flattened themselves against the railing as Allen ran by. He plucked up the nearest Owl that looked remotely willing to be plucked up.

"Get her!" he declared, pointing at Malinda as she ran into the Owlery. Her wand came up.

The owl remained perched on his arm, dug its talons in a little too hard, and preened.

"Ow," Allen said. The owl glowered at him. "Okay, okay. Sorry for grabbing you like that."

It hooted at him and flew back to its perch.

"Pathetic," Glenmoor snorted. "You can just order it to attack, Walker."

"I'd rather he didn't?" Malinda jabbed him in the side with her wand, sending him jumping away with a yelp and looking to make sure he hadn't sprouted a head of antlers or anything. "Owl attacks aren't funny, Slàine."

"I wouldn't do that to an owl," Allen added.

"Oh, but you'll maul a classmate. That's reassuring."

"You'd _live_."

Malinda shot a look at Glenmoor, who side-eyed her. "He's right."

She attempted to defenestrate him out of one of the Owlery windows.

Judging by the muffled laughing and general lack of progress towards the windows themselves, Allen supposed she wasn't being very serious about it, so he ignored them and went about finding an owl that looked willing to and capable of flying all the way to god forsaken Italy. He tried to find the one that had brought the letter from Cross a week or so ago, but it didn't seem to be present.

He had no idea how to tell a long-distance flier from a short-distance one, aside from the fact that the smaller they were, the less far they should be sent. So, instead, he crossed his arms and stood in front of all the perched owls.

"Alright, then," he said, very firmly. One had to be firm when handling beasts. Or so Hagrid said. "Which one of you here wants to go to Italy?"

They all sent a muffled _hoot_ at him, which was surprising, all things considered.

"..Italy? Around France? Across the ocean. Uh." How did one describe Italy to a brood of semi-intelligent owls? "...Beauxbatons?"

He received a chorus of hoots that he assumed were in recognition of that word.

"Bit further than Beauxbatons. Next country down. Looks like a boot."

"Y'know," Malinda said lowly, coming up behind him. "Wizards have been wondering just how smart owls are for centuries."

Watching the birds turn to each other, Allen could see why. They looked like they were having a meeting to decide which poor sap was going to be sent over two seas across four and a half country borders.

"No one's ever tried _holding a conversation with them_ to test that theory though," Glenmoor added. He seemed oddly observant about the whole thing.

"My guardian's owl is pretty smart," Allen said. "..He's kind of odd, though, so it's probably not normal."

"Odd how?"

Allen thought about that for a good, long while.

Timcanpy was... really pretty smart for an owl. Granted, Timcanpy was likely some monstrous abomination that Cross claimed to have summoned from the depths of hell in the back of a Porsche that he and Neah had hijacked on their trip across Germany in the 1970s. Allen didn't think about it much, because that meant he had to entertain the implication that _Neah was driving_ , and he wasn't sure if that was more terrifying that Cross being at the wheel or not.

Honestly, he had no idea how _what_ Timcanpy was, only that the owl (for lack of a better term) had survived death and destruction at the hands of normal house cats and magical marsh-dwelling swamp cats alike. Multiple times. At this point, Allen was willing to believe anything about Timcanpy, including the possibility of him being part Phoenix. Or part immortal jellyfish. Maybe even both.

Allen thought about it a little more.

"He has teeth?" was what he said finally, to which Glenmoor responded with sputtering laughter.

"That's not an owl," Malinda said.

"He's an owl," Allen insisted. "He growls."

"Owls don't _growl_ , Allen!"

"They do in Italy?"

" _Why do you sound so uncertain about that._ "

Allen didn't respond, because the coven of owls had finished convening and had sent down their representative. It was a Great Horned owl, not the largest of the ones still in the Owlery, but big enough that Allen wasn't too worried about the trip it would have to make. It preened itself on the roost in front of him.

"..Are you _posturing_ at me?" The owl chittered and straighted up. Yes. It was definitely posturing. "I can't believe this."

" _You're talking to owls, mate_."

The Great Horned hooted, then puffed out its chest. Allen thought it seemed rather proud of something that escaped his tiny human brain.

He gave it a good scratch on the head, right behind the ears. It chirruped happily, so he went about rolling his letter up and putting on Charms for weather protection. He wondered how Cross managed to get those two letters to Hogwarts in such pristine shape, despite being halfway across Euorpe.

"Don't you ever talk to animals?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"What're you doing that for? Sorry—" Malinda brushed past them and went over to a relatively clean corner of the owlery. "There's long-distance harnesses over here—"

"—Animals aren't really able to hold conversations," Glenmoor finished. They headed over to where Malinda was after he gave the owl another scratch. "You can tell 'em to do stuff, and owls probably understand what you're saying most times, but they don't say anything back."

The Great Horned let out a growl as though to argue that point.

"...Usually."

Allen looked him straight in the eye. "Have I mentioned I'm terrified of people and talking to animals is the better alternative?"

Then he felt the same sort of horrid, visceral sensation of being sucked in and spat out he got whenever Neah avoided avoided eye-contact with him, so he decided to focus on the acne on Glenmoor's forehead instead. Which was all well and good, because Glenmoor looked away, too.

Hmm. Maybe no more of that.

"Can't be _that_ bad," Glenmoor muttered.

On second thought—

" _Are talking about your tragic backstory without me_ ," Malinda hissed over Allen's shoulder. He jumped.

" _No_!" he yelped. "There is no tragic backstory!"

"There's _always_ a tragic backstory."

"Is not."

"Is—" She squinted at him again. After a bit of silence, she sighed dramatically and handed over the harness that she was holding. " _Fine_. Alright. You go free this day, but you won't be so lucky next time."

Allen mimed zipping his lips and throwing the key out the window.

He used a quick spell to stuff the letter into the tin before putting the harness on his chosen owl. Wondered, while doing so, how Cross had managed to send them _two_ pieces of mail that arrived crisp and clean, because he didn't recall seeing any sort of harness on the owl that brought his mail. Or rather, on the one that brought Neah's mail. He didn't actually see the owl that brought his own, but none of his classmates mentioned it, so he assumed it was a... normal owl.

...Then again, Timpcanpy was also a. Normal owl. For some definition of 'normal'. And some definition of 'owl'.

"There," he said, once the owl had flown out the window. "Thanks again, Malinda. And Glenmoor too, I guess."

Glenmoor parroted Allen's words back at him in a mocking tone and clapped him on the shoulder. "What're friends for?"

"You sure you're not coming to Hogsmeade with us, Allen? It's really great!"

"Maybe next time. Uncle and I have something planned already for today."

Glenmoor made the same sound he did the first time he heard that Allen wasn't going with them, which was something like a cross between exasperation and the tone of utter betrayal. "It's _Hallowe'en_ , mate. You have to go _out_ on Hallowe'en. How else are you going to get yourself some decent sweets?"

Allen grinned. "You'll buy them for me?"

His housemates looked at each other. Glenmoor pushed his glasses up. "How much are we talking, exactly?"

"Uh... little bit of everything?"

"What am I, a pack mule? No way!"

"Aw, c'mon! Malinda?"

"Hmm?" She said, checking her nails with an exaggerated air of indifference. "I can get you 10 packs of sugar quills easy. Anything else comes with 20% interest."

Allen almost conceded. _Almost_. "You'll run 20% interest on a Knut?"

"I'll round up."

Oh, right.

"Okay."

Wasn't his money anyway. He could probably convince Neah by bribing him with the prospect of candy. Did his uncle even like candy?

"..Seriously, Walker?"

"Hey, don't make him change his mind. I'm making 20% profit off this."

Glenmoor leaned closer, ostensibly serious. "Most everything is 1 or 2 Sickles apiece."

"Okay?"

"...There's 29 Knuts to a Sickles. You _do_ know that, right, Walker?"

"Yeah, of course." It was probably not a lie. He had a vague recollection of having this explained to him. "Your exchange rates are terrible here?"

"Post-war economy," Glenmoor said, shrugging. "Mum says, anyway."

Allen had a feeling that most economies were supposed to get better after a war ended, not worse. Which made him wonder what things were like back there _was_ still a war. But this was all based on throwaway things he'd heard Cross say, and while he was sure the man wasn't _stupid_ , he supposed Cross didn't know _everything_.

...Maybe he'd just ask Neah later.

"Okay. So it's another 12 Knuts on a 2 Sickle item. And?"

Wait.

"..That's almost half a Sickle."

Malinda elbowed Glenmoor in the side.

"I mean— it's fine!" Allen said, and hoped he sounded reassuring. It really was fine. "I was just. Expressing some surprise at the declining state of the local Wizarding economy. Global economy?"

"I definitely remember getting more for 2 Sickles than a single Jelly Slug when I was, uh, younger," Malinda agreed. "...I think I remember, anyway. Butterbeer too. It's still 2 Sickles a bottle. Want one?"

" _Why is a single piece of candy worth as much as a bottle of Butterbeer?_ "

She held her hands apart about a foot from each other. "Big candy."

Allen suppressed the urge to go running to Neah demand that he explain how money worked in Britain. He was sure Neah would not know the actual facts, and would make something up halfway through explaining the history of the Galleon, but it would probably be more preferable to this _2-Sickles-a-Slug_ nonsense.

God he missed France. And they were only there for two weeks. Why couldn't he have gone to Beauxbatons?

"Big candy," he repeated. The confusion was implied.

"I think Jelly Slugs are the biggest they have, right?"

Glenmoor nodded. "Until Valentine's, anyway."

"...What happens on Valentine's?"

Glenmoor looked Allen dead in the eye. Like, _dead_ , dead in the eye. "Chocolates."

Oooh. _Chocolates_.

"Stop _grinning_ , you look like a madman."

"I _like_ chocolates," Allen said in defense. He did not manage to stop grinning.

"You say that until you get one laced with a Love Potion."

" _I didn't know it came pre-mixed_!" Malinda groaned. "The box was _pretty_ and I got it for you as a _joke_."

"Yeah. And then I spent the entire day in the dorm, locked in by my own roommates."

"That seems like a reasonable thing to do." They looked at him. Allen blinked. "Uh. Hormones?"

"What?" they said.

"What?" he parroted back. "How do your Love Potions work?"

"...How do _yours_?!"

Glenmoor mouthed something like _what's a hormone_ to himself in horror.

Before Allen could explain, a _bang_ from outside the Owlery interrupted them. Someone suspiciously like Malfoy shouted, and a stream of sparks flew past the doorway, sending all the owls into a flurry of hooting. Half of them cleared out through the window by the time the second set of sparks lit up the room.

Allen threw himself behind the largest obstacle that could stand between him and the door. Glenmoor and Malinda followed him after a brief moment of surprise.

"Malfoy?" Glenmoor hissed. "He can't be after _you_ , can he?"

"I didn't do anything to him! ...I mean, after the first time!" Allen insisted. He took out his wand anyway. Better safe than sorry, and with the way his left arm and eye were twinging, he definitely wanted to be safe.

"Think he ran into Potter?" Malinda suggested. She'd had her wand out before even ducking down behind the— whatever it was they were hiding behind. Allen had no idea, this was this first time in here.

"Does talking to Harry makes Malfoy want to kill things?" he hissed back.

" _Harry_?" Glenmoor whispered in scandalized accusation.

" _Talking_?" Malinda added, with a tone of utter incredulity.

Allen shrugged wildly. Another spell sounded from below and the room lit up again as it flew by. There were footsteps approaching now, rapidly. Well, rapidly for someone ascending a spiral staircase maybe two steps at a time.

"Whoever that is, they're going to be tired once they get here," Glenmoor muttered darkly. "Window of opportunity."

" _Stupefy_?"

Allen shot a look at Malinda. "All three of us? That's a bit overkill."

"You wanna make him dance, then? He'll fall and crack his head open."

"If he gets knocked back down the stairs that'll happen anyway! Just— use Body Bind, at least!"

" _I could disarm you three times over in the time it takes to say Petrificus Totalus, Walker_."

"You verbal-casting heathens."

"Why are we attacking him again? Or her? I thought you hated attacking people, Allen."

"Technically speaking," Allen said, poking his head over the slab of whatever, "Body Bind is a defensive spell."

A shadow blurred across the doorway and he rose, flinging a wordless spell while Glenmoor and Malinda both shouted _Stupefy_.

All three spells bounced off a Shield Charm and had them dropping down behind the slab again with a yelp. Allen relented and threw a Stunning Spell over the top of it in doorway's general direction, but judging by the sound, it had been either countered or blocked by another _Protego_.

"— _Allen_?"

They all froze. Allen stuck his head over.

"... _Uncle_?!"

Neah waved at him weakly, lacking enough composure to forgo his usual lilting smile. "Nice aim," he said.

Then he ducked under another shot of sparks fired from behind him and ran into the room. He was immediately descended upon by as many owls as were still in the tower.

Malinda was trying to wrestle Glenmoor's wand away and Allen was shooing away owls that were flying down to perch on his uncle, and also pull on his hair for disturbing them.

Neah suffered it silently.

"Ow," he said dully, when one of them nipped at his ear almost hard enough to tear it off. Neah didn't seem to mind?

Weird.

Someone was approaching the Owlery again, and though Allen already had an idea who it was, it didn't stop him from jumping in front of his uncle with his wand ready.

Malfoy ran in and then stopped in his tracks the moment he saw them. A logical reaction, what with Neah covered in grumpy owls, Malinda and Glenmoor hiding behind a— he still had no idea what that was, but there were owls on it now —and Allen holding two more in one arm.

"..What the bloody hell are you _doing_ , Walker?" Malfoy spat out. He was trying to get a good shot in and looked like he'd jinx Allen too if it came down to it.

"Sending a letter," Allen said slowly. "What are _you_ doing? Thought you finished up here already."

"Caught a _rat_ sneaking around the tower." Malfoy flicked his wand to indicate the man behind Allen.

"Do I look like a rat?" Neah gasped, affronted.

Allen muttered under his breath, "More like a Niffler."

"..Are you calling me a harmless gold digger?"

He thought about it a moment.

"...Mostly harmless," he conceded. "Would you _put down your wand_ , Malfoy? I know you'd like nothing more than to hex me out the tower, but _really_."

"Who is he?" Malfoy demanded. He didn't lower his wand but he did seem less likely to do something they'd both find unpleasant. "You know him, do you?"

"Well, I'd hope so," Allen said. He finally let go of the two owls he'd been holding. "He's my uncle."

Malfoy's face did a weird thing that was probably supposed to be surprise.

" _Ciao_ ," Neah said. He was smiling again, which Allen found reassuring. His uncle looked weird without a smile. "Mr. Malfoy, was it?"

It took a few moments, but Malfoy did finally put his wand away, and after an elbow from him, his two grunts— er, friends, did the same.

"..My apologies, Mr. Campbell. I— I didn't know—"

Allen had never actually seen Malfoy being _respectful_ of anyone, so this was a surprise. Although, if he had to describe it, it seemed less like 'respect' and more like 'fear'.

Honestly, it worried him a little.

"Uncle," Allen said, with all the pomp and decorum of Slytherin who had no idea what he was doing, "meet Draco Malfoy. Malfoy... my uncle, Neah Campbell."

Neah flashed another grin. Allen wished he would stop doing that now. Granted, the owls did make him look more harmless than usual.

"No need for apologies, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure you were only doing your utmost duty to protect your fellow classmates."

Now that just sounded unnecessarily sarcastic, even if it probably was true. Allen gave Neah a Look to make sure his uncle was aware of this.

"What are you doing here, uncle?"

"I came to fetch you, of course. You were taking too long, so I went to make sure you hadn't ended up in the Forbidden Forest without me."

"My sense of direction is not that bad!"

Neah cooed at one of the owls on his arm and stroked its head idly. " _Halfway across France_..."

" _That_... was not my fault, but I see your point." Allen looked out the window. "I haven't been gone _that_ long."

"I know," Neah said, wistful and sighing. "I'm just worried for you."

"You mean you're bored."

His uncle shrugged, and then went about putting the owls back in their roosts. Or, whichever roost was closest. They didn't seem to be particularly territorial about it. Plenty of food to keep them happy, likely.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Allen said before the other boy could bolt. The words felt weird in his mouth, but not unwanted. He wasn't as bad as _Kanda_ about it.

Malfoy looked utterly befuddled. "...For _what_?"

The fact that Malfoy didn't immediately know what he meant had Allen second-guessing himself. "For... uh. For looking out for us..? For caring enough to chase a stranger up— how many flights is the owlery tower?"

"You were kinda cool up until that point, Allen." Malinda socked the back of his shoulder. Playfully. And half-heartedly, because she was leaning away to keep Glenmoor from getting his wand back.

She was successful, somehow, despite the fact that he was taller than her.

"I wasn't trying to be?"

"Of course you weren't, dear nephew," Neah said, coming over to pick feathers out of Allen's hair. "Are you all finished here? Not keeping your friends from Hogsmeade for too long, are you?"

" _We_ were just about to go!" Malinda said, and then grabbed Allen's arm. For the life of him, he couldn't in that moment figure out which of his arms it was that she grabbed, only that he was glad she wasn't very intent on keeping a death grip on it so he could easily extricate himself form her grasp. "Are you _sure_ Allen can't come with us? He's _very_ well-behaved and we'll watch him very closely!"

"What am I, a dog."

"Woof," Glenmoor said in a grunt.

"My apologies, Ms. Seymound." Neah looked like he was ready to laugh again, so Allen dug an elbow into his side. It didn't do much good. "Perhaps he can accompany you next time."

 _Perhaps_. Allen knew it was just Neah being vague and obscenely, obnoxiously polite, but it still felt like he'd been dunked in cold water. That Neah, and thus Cross, and _Komui_ , didn't have a definite answer, that they didn't know how they was going to turn out. If they would ever really be safe.

His uncle looked between him and the others for a moment. "Come down when you're ready, Allen. We're not in any rush."

Neah gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and brushed past Malfoy and his gang on his way down the stairs.

"Why aren't you going to Hogsmeade?" Malfoy demanded, the moment Neah was out of earshot.

Allen felt the urge to roll his eyes, _god_ , why was it _such a big deal_ whether he went or not? One would think Hogsmeade was some kind of _holy land_ or something.

...It wasn't. Was it?

"Apparently, no one really likes Hagrid," Allen muttered, finally free of his peers.

Neah hummed in response.

They were halfway across the grounds by now. Neah was trying to weave a crown out of grasses and adding wildflowers as they went, plucked from the roadside. Allen was trying to get butterflies to land on his left arm even though there weren't any flowers on the vines.

"Can't imagine why," Neah said, holding the crown over Allen's head to check the size. "He's big, burly, hairy, teaches a class about dangerous creatures that he loves to death."

Allen swatted his hands away with a face. "Supposedly a half-Giant."

"Irrelevant."

"Not according to everyone else."

Neah clucked his tongue with the intention of being entirely condescending. " _English wizards_. You'd think magic was a completely human thing that made you better than everyone else."

"That's unnecessary, uncle."

" _Latin_ was unnecessary," Neah said snidely. "Do you have any idea how beautiful the old Etruscan language is?"

"..No?"

"Neither do I. The Romans killed it." Allen gave him a look that was both disbelieving and ready to break out into laughter. Neah shrugged and gestured loosely with his wand, picking up a swirl of leaves as he did so. "Murder tends to happen when lands are seized and conquered. Which the Romans did a lot of. Everyone did, actually."

His nephew let out a disgruntled noise. "When did you become a historian?"

"When Marian and I went around the world in 80 days."

"...80 days."

"Yes. Why is it always the tone of disbelief with you, Allen?" Allen looked at him again and started grabbing leaves out of the air with his tendrils. Neah rolled his eyes and sighed. "...Al _right_ , so it took the better part of two decades. We were doing research."

"On Golemancy, right?"

Neah plopped the wreath onto his nephew's head again and scruffled up his hair. "How on earth did Marian ever raise such a _clever_ boy."

Allen tried to headbutt him, so Neah snatched his creation back and booked it down the path before the Gummy Ficus could trip him over.

" _THE ROMANS AREN'T EVEN ENGLISH!_ " Allen shouted after him.

"I KNOW," Neah said over his shoulder. "I WAS TRYING TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT."

"OH." There was a pause. Then Allen threw the bundle of leaves he collected and pelted them into Neah's back like harmless paper balls. "STOP CHANGING THE SUBJECT!"

"I'M AN ADULT, ALLEN. CHANGING THE SUBJECT IS WHAT I DO BEST." They were approaching Hagrid's hut now, but somehow, Neah felt that stopping would be a bit of a bad idea. "WHY, ONCE IN MY THIRD YEAR OF SCHOOL, I—"

He never finished the sentence because Hagrid decided that was the best time to come out of his hut and fire his crossbow at Neah's head.

Luckily, Neah tripped and fell on his face instead, which left Allen to yelp and snatch the bolt out of the air as it flew by.

" _Walker_? Blimey, what are you— Is that you, Campbell?"

Neah tried to play dead. It didn't work, because Hagrid was a mountain of a man who could lift a person up with one hand if he wanted to. And he did. He pulled Neah up by the back of his robes without even so much as a grunt of effort.

"What're yeh doing down here, runnin' about an' screamin' yer head off? Yeh could've been killed!"

Neah looked back at Allen, who had the crossbow bolt in his left hand and was wearing the face of someone that had just narrowly escaped death.

"..Who exactly were you trying to kill with that, Rubeus?"

"Oh. Er—" Hagrid set him down and patted off the bits of grass from his back with enough force to topple a young tree. Allen was trying not to laugh while Neah was just trying not to fall over. "Figured yeh was a dementor or somethin'. They've been creepin' about in the forest since term started."

"I thought the Headmaster wasn't letting them onto school grounds," Allen said, gingerly handing the bolt back to its owner. The man placed it in what accounted for a quiver, buckled to his side.

"He hasn't," Hagrid said, and gestured with his crossbow at where the horizon met the edge of the treeline, off in the distance. "They stay outside the walls, mostly, but yeh can't see 'em if they're in the woods. Can' chase em out over the lake, either, so yeh see 'em floatin' there,too."

"Government dogs," Neah muttered. He picked a leaf from his hair. "Nice aim, by the way."

"..Uncle you were almost shot in the head."

"Yeah. Nice aim. Does that even work on dementors?"

"Scare 'em off, at least." Hagrid cleared his throat to hide the fact that he looked both pleased and concerned to be praised for his aim when someone almost died from it. From the person who almost died from it. "What'd you trip over?"

"Um.." Neah kicked the ground a few paces back and found his foot caught on the same thing it had gotten caught on before. "...Pumpkin vine?"

"Blast. I'll have ter get me shears an' trim the edges again. Luckily pumpkin season's almos' over... Ye alright there?"

"Oh, yeah. Just my pride is bruised."

"You don't have any, uncle."

"My _soul_ ," he corrected, dramatically laying a hand on his chest, "is rattling around like pebbles in the hollow, aching, _emptiness_ of the vessel in which it resides."

"Sounds ter me like yeh've got a bezoar in there. Yeh should get tha' looked at. Though I don' recommend Snape for tha'," Hagrid said all too seriously over Allen's burst of laughter. "What're you two doin' this far away from the castle?"

"I did tell you we were going to be visiting. Didn't I?" Neah blinked when the man shook his head. "...Must've slipped my mind. Well, Allen can't go to Hogsmeade, so we've been looking for something to spend the day with... Is it much a bother if we stay for a bit, Rubeus? He hasn't met Buckbeak yet."

"It isn't, but I've— well, I've not tidied up for visitors at all. Truthfully speakin', I gettin' ready ter check on the grounds today, now that all the students've gone off."

"Mind if we join you?"

Allen stopped, his face frozen in the middle of a laugh. "If we what."

Neah ignored him.

"You... no. No, I couldn't." Hagrid waved a hand like he was trying to bat away the very idea of it. "Can' have you doin' that, not you two. Aren't yeh supposed ter be in stayin' put in the castle?"

"It's _boring_ in there," he bemoaned. "The only things I have to do in there are pestering Severus and writing love letters to M— myself. Love letters to myself."

"Please let us come with you, Professor," Allen said with a sudden, vigorous desperation. "I need a unicorn to purge that image from my mind."

Hagrid actually seemed to consider that. "...I don' think unicorns can do tha', Walker."

Allen let out an anguished cry and sank down to his knees, head in hands. Neah gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"Technically, the Headmaster only _advised_ against wandering the grounds unattended," he said. "I believe the Gamekeeper, Professor Rubeus Hagrid, can be considered adequate... attendance."

That word didn't sound quite right, but neither Allen nor Hagrid said anything, so he supposed it was fine. Not that it made Neah any more convinced of its correctness.

"S'pose I am," Hagrid said gruffly, straightening up. Neah thought he looked rather chuffed by it. "Want ter come an' say hullo ter Buckbeak in the meanwhile?"

"He'd _love_ to. Here." Neah handed the slightly wrinkled grass-and-flower crown to his nephew. "Give this to Beaky for me."

"Why?" Allen took it anyway, and said nothing about being volunteered to participate in this 'say hello to Buckbeak' nonsense. "What's a Buckbeak? Beaky?"

Hagrid motioned towards the paddock on the other side of his hut. Allen trotted over curiously.

"I don't think he's ever seen a hippogriff before," Neah said lightly as he passed Hagrid by. Allen was looking back at them with the kind of excitement one would expect of him in Honeyduke's.

"I think he likes 'em," Hagrid said back, proudly.

"He'd like a dragon if it didn't take his limbs off."

"Uncle!" Allen said, almost bouncing in place. He pointed to one of the creatures with a tufted head and a glimmering bronze coat. "That one looks like Timcanpy!"

Hagrid laughed as he came over and opened the paddock gate. "Tha's about what yer uncle said."

"That's _exactly_ what I said."

Neah leaned against the fence, watching the professor give Allen a quick rundown on the usual hippogriff lesson. Allen made a point to bow to and pat every single one in the paddock, which, thankfully, was only a few, or else they would've been here forever. The rest of the herd must've been in the forest, hunting or flying.

Maybe they could be taught to chase off dementors? _That_ would be a sight to behold.

"Uncle!"

If he'd known that he was going to be called _uncle_ that often, he might have introduced himself as 'a friend of Marian's' instead. Being an uncle was weird.

Actually, being known as 'Marian's friend' was even weirder, and also left a bad taste in his mouth. He liked 'uncle' better.

Allen had a harness in his hand and was trying to lead the one named Buckbeak over to where Neah was, but the hippogriff was not having it. The grass crown on his feathery head did make him look slightly less intimidating, though.

"Don' pull on 'im too much there, Walker," Hagrid said from a few paces behind them. "He won' like tha'."

"I heard he doesn't like you, uncle," Allen grunted, still trying to pull Buckbeak closer. "Took me three tries to get him to bow back. I'm sure there's hope for you yet."

"You make it sound like such a terrible thing."

" _His feathers are soooo soft_."

"..Okay, you have a point. But dragging him over here isn't going to help. Right, professor?"

"If he had a legitimate reason ter be terrified o' the two o' you. But he don't, do he?" Hagrid landed a heavy pat on the hippogriff's hindquarters. It didn't help. "Go on, Beaky. Sweetest lamb a person could be, he won't hurt yeh none."

"Did you just call my uncle a _sweet lamb_ , professor?"

"Aren't I, though?" Neah pointed out through a smile. "You called Buckbeak a lamb too, Rubeus. He could snap a spine in half by stepping on it."

"Yeh could snap it with a wave o' yer hand, Campbell."

"See? Sweetest lamb a person could be."

Allen made a face and gave up trying to drag the hippogriff along. It looked like he was attempting to sneakily nudge him closer instead and hoping that Buckbeak wouldn't notice.

Neah waved Hagrid over. "I'll keep out of the paddock, Rubeus. And I'll make sure Allen doesn't hurt himself playing with sharp objects."

"Yeh sure? Wouldn' wanna come back ter see 'im missin' an eye. Another eye."

" _I would never do anything to make Buckbeak want to gouge out my one good eye,_ " Allen protested.

"Swear by Merlin's beard." Neah held up one hand and placed the other over his heart. "I'm really good with Shield Charms, too."

"..I suppose tha's better'n a stunner." The man gave Buckbeak another pat on the flanks. "Yeh behave now, Beaky. I'll be keepin' an eye out the window. Yeh just holler if he starts actin' up any."

"Did you hear that, Allen?" Neah called out once Hagrid had ducked into his hut again. "Don't go climbing on his back without proper supervision."

"Aren't you proper supervision?"

Neah took a step back and spread his arms out as if to say _what part of this looks like proper supervision?_

"-Hey, that's my sweater."

He looked down at what he was wearing under his robes. It was a generic thing with a flaming skull printed on the front, and words _Inferi Feri_ above it. Neah was pretty sure Allen only bought it for the skull and had no idea that it was actually a band name.

"..That explains why it was so small," he said, tugging at the hem.

"Did you _enlarge_ my sweater just so it would fit you?"

"I thought it got shrunk in the wash."

Allen abandoned his quest to make Buckbeak warm up to Neah in order to mourn over how apparently stretched out the skull was and how awful it looked now.

"This can't even be fixed anymore... It cost a _whole Galleon_ , uncle. One whole Galleon!"

"What the hell kind of sweater costs an entire Galleon?" Neah dug out a gold coin from one of the pockets on the inside of his robes. "Here. Buy a better sweater."

Allen stared at the Galleon for a moment. "...Do you just go around carrying money in your pockets like that? Just rattling around like a niffler?"

"Well, yes. Doesn't everybody?" He blinked. "..I'm not a niffler!"

"At least keep it in a little bag or something! Like a _sensible niffler_."

(Somewhere in Lupin's office, Harry Potter sneezed, and his pockets jingled.)

"Sensible would be carrying around money that didn't broadcast itself every time you do a little jig," Neah said, shaking that part of his robes to gauge how much it was jingling. "Still haven't found a Silencing Charm that works on objects."

Allen watched him for a moment, resting his head on his arms as he too leaned on the paddock fencing. Behind him, Buckbeak was trying to come closer while at the same time avoiding Neah as much as possible.

"Cross says the _Babbano_ use some kind of paper money."

"It would certainly make buying your schoolbooks much easier, using banknotes. Carrying around a heavy bag of coins is just asking for trouble."

"Were they that expensive?"

Neah broke off his staring contest with the hippogriff to look at his nephew. Allen had looked away by now and was watching Hagrid putter around in his hut, gathering up odds and ends into a massive leather satchel.

"...Don't worry your little head about it, Allen." Neah went so far as to ruffle his hair again to emphasize just how little his nephew's head was (which was actually not that little at all).

"I keep forgetting you're filthy rich," Allen muttered, then yelped when Buckbeak let out a barking squawk.

The hippogriff grabbed the hum of Allen's robe in his beak and started tugging him backwards. It took a moment before they realized he was trying to get Allen away from Neah himself. Only when Neah took his hand back did Buckbeak relent and let go, retreating to a respectable distance once more.

"Wow, Neah... he really doesn't like you."

"He's very clever, in that sense. Unlike a certain nephew of mine."

Allen made that face again. The same one he generally made whenever someone implied they were a family as more than just a surface term. Neah always found it quite funny, and also endearing, because Allen never really refuted anything.

He just seemed to be immensely offended by it, in some way.

"So, what's on your mind?" Neah asked, after watching his nephew stare at the grass for another while with an expression that spoke of of extreme focus and conflicting interests.

"What makes you think there's anything on my mind?"

"Life is a book, and I read every single page of it."

"...It's written all over my face, isn't it."

"Like a letter penned in fluorescent ink, dear boy," he said, waving his hand in a flourish. "You're practically _glowing_ with gloom. In fact, you are the brightest, most eye-glaring thing in the near vicinity, barring the sun. You are, shall we say, the light in the dark. The light of my life. The—"

"StttooOO _OOPPP_ ," Allen near-shrieked in a rising whine, once again shoving his hand against Neah's face. This was starting to feel familiar now. " _Stoppit!_ "

Maybe he'd ask again later, then. Hagrid was tromping towards them, if the heavy footfalls were any indication.

"What's goin' on? Yeh're not gettin' into a fight or nothin', are yeh?"

"Jush shome fambly bondingh," Neah said, sliding an arm around Allen's shoulders as the boy tried to squash his nose flat with both hands. He even _hissed_. "Reddy do go?"

Hagrid looked between them with something like a smile. "Ready when yeh are."

After a bit of tug-of-war between Neah trying to pull Allen over the fence and Allen refusing to let himself be bodily dragged around like that, Neah finally let go. He touched his nose gingerly to check for bleeding while Allen circled around to leave the paddock properly through the gate.

It wasn't until they had covered half the distance of the school grounds that the red faded from Allen's face.

Hagrid went about checking the grasses and fields, looking for traces of creatures living in the brush with a massive pair of binoculars and a set of whistles. He had a massive book that he took notes in every now and then, and he pointed out to them how the population of critters on Hogwarts grounds had been from season to season, year to year.

"We've got the owls ter feed, see. Field mice bein' the main food, an' sometimes the frogs near the lake. Gotta make sure they don' go holin' up outside the Owlery, either." Hagrid motioned towards a stand of trees near the Quidditch pitch. "Las' time it happened, they started fightin' with each other fer food. Bloody mess it was, especially after a thestral got involved... If yeh ever spot an owl nestin' outside the Owlery, yeh come an' tell me, alrigh'? We'll get 'em sent for proper raisin' and trainin'."

"You can't just leave them be?" Allen asked, squinting off at the trees. "Relocate them somewhere else off Hogwarts grounds?"

"Well sure, if yeh know someone who wants owls tha' can't fly post. Yeh might find a breeder that'll let 'em out inter the wild. If it's a rare an' endangered species, yeh call in a proper magizoologist ter take care of it... Why, yeh interested in that sorta thing, Mr. Walker?"

"Hm? Oh... I know a magizoologist? I mean.. our Care of Magical Creatures professor at _Rosa Croce_ mostly covered handling, not care. She did taming and training, so hearing about it from a gamekeeper is quite... unique, I guess!"

Neah looks over. He'd managed to drift back a few paces, relegating their conversation to background noise. Allen was surprisingly fascinated by what Hagrid was saying, and Hagrid, in turn, looked both pleased and somewhat bashful of the attention.

He'd never heard of Allen being interested in Magical Creatures. Not even with Timcanpy, apart from the basics of feeding and keeping the creature from eating everything in sight.

It never hurt to endear oneself to a teacher, in any case. Even if Care of Magical Creatures was about the last thing Allen would need to know, if he didn't plan on following in Marian's footsteps. Bootsteps. Which was highly unlikely, probably, given their relationship with each other.

...Though with the Vatican Ministry going south, there was a chance that Allen could do whatever he wanted once he graduated. Assuming the Ministry didn't actually last that long, and assuming there weren't going to be any problems with any _other_ ministries, wherever he decided to go.

But that was another matter, for another time. They had other things to worry about right now.

"Hey," he said as Allen trotted over. "Done talking already?"

"He said there was a thestral thing pawing up a tree so he's having a look to see what it's after. Said it'd be safer if i stayed back."

Neah looked to where Hagrid was and saw him attempting to coerce a withered, blackened winged creature into steeping away from a solitary tree. It must've been hidden in the shadows when they looked over earlier. It didn't _look_ particularly dangerous...

But Hagrid did seem to have a knack for undangerifying the dangerous.

"I don't see anything, though?"

Allen seemed more curious than concerned. Invisible creatures were not uncommon in this magical world of theirs, but he was probably intrigued by how Hagrid could see it, when he couldn't.

"I do," Neah said. When Allen looked worried, he continued, "But it's not much to look at, honestly. From back here anyway."

It didn't help. Telling him that it looked more like a bony caricature of an animal probably wouldn't do much, either.

"I wanted to ask," Allen started to say suddenly. "Um.. you said _maybe_ I could go to Hogsmeade next time. You don't know for sure if I can?"

"Let's just say it'll depend on how today goes."

"..So you don't know."

"You'll find there will be times in life when you know nothing about what's going on around you, Allen. You'll have to deal with it in whatever ways you can. Whether that's figuring out what you don't know, avoiding it, or rushing into it heedlessly, the method is up to you."

Allen looked at him for a while longer, then went back to probably watching Hagrid play-wrestle with thin air.

"Aren't we just hiding right now? Like... like cowards?" the boy muttered, his voice nearly lost in the light breeze and the rustle of grass. "Afraid of what's coming after us?"

"Fear keeps us alive." Neah stepped in front of Allen, enough to get his full attention. No need to lean and loom. "Do you see bravery and glory in death, dear nephew?"

Allen opened his mouth. Neah thought it was to say _depends on the death_ , because he'd heard it so many times before. A proud death, a martyr's death. A satisfying death.

Instead, Allen asked, "do you?"

He should've remembered that Mana had fallen right before Allen's eyes. That Mana had lain deathly still just paces away from where Allen had been.

"I want to live," said Neah. "The very fact that we're still standing here and breathing and _talking_ defies the words of everyone who said we wouldn't last this long. I want to live, and keep living, and I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen, to keep myself alive. To keep _you_ alive, Allen."

The boy's gaze dropped to the necklace that Neah always wore. A silver cross, similar to what Marian had, with a gem in the center.

He couldn't recall if Mana had one, too.

"Why?" Allen asked, and looked away. "For Mana? Because I'm Mana's son?"

If not for the fact that Neah had long gotten used to having remarkably on-the-spot heartfelt conversations with people in the middle of the most innocuous places, this might have seemed almost ridiculous. Someone else might've said there was a time and place for everything. A proper talk should happen in a proper location.

Life did not always work that way.

"Because you deserve to live, Allen."

Life also bears repeating. Neah would say it as many times as he needed to until Allen stopped asking, even if he found it as annoying as Neah found Marian to be. As annoying as Mana had been.

"Walker, Campbell!"

Allen flashed into a smile as quickly as Neah did. Hagrid was leading the bony-looking thing over to them, beaming as he did so.

"Take it yeh never seen a thestral before, have yeh."

"I'll, um.. assume that's a thestral there?" Allen blinked, raising his hand out cautiously in the wrong direction. "I can't see anything. Is that normal?"

"Any other creature I'd say it's a righ' shame." Hagrid shook his head, trying but not quite able to remain lighthearted about it. He seemed to notice Neah looking right at it. "Magnificent beings, thestrals, but they can only be seen by anyone who's seen death. Really _seen_ it."

Neah could feel Allen staring at the side of his head.

"..I have seen it, though. I did see someone.. die. Right in front of me."

Hagrid went quiet for a moment.

"Yeh migh' not have understood it," he said then, a little gruffly. "If yeh was a wee thing. Get a lot of kids here with parents died in accidents, but it takes years sometimes 'fore they can see a thestral. Takes time, Mr. Walker. Nothin' ter worry abou'."

Allen was still trying to reach for the animal. He was getting closer, going by sound more than sight. It sounded like a horse.

"How long?"

The man went misty-eyed, it seemed. He sniffled, though it was more like a snort, and patted down his beard in a nervous habit.

"When it stops hurtin' much, I suppose."

The thestral got impatient and began nosing at Allen's hand, placing its head right in front of him and standing still to be pet. He broke into a grin.

"What's it look like? Er.. he? She?"

Neah ducked his head under. "..She?"

Allen spluttered out _uncle!_ and Hagrid coughed loudly, but was half ready to laugh, and he also didn't correct Neah's judgment. The thestral didn't care, though she did toss her head at him briefly.

"Looks like a horse, honestly," he said, and put two fingers next to his mouth and then up by his ears. "With fangs and horns. And wings."

"She feels really... thin."

"They haven' got any flesh to 'em," Hagrid pitched in. "They're perfectly healthy like tha'. They run free as they please, mos'ly, an' hunt squirrels an' moles whenever they need. I feed 'em chicken and scraps from the school kitchen sometimes, when I need 'em for lessons, but they don' get much thicker'n that. Yeh learn about 'em next year, Mr. Walker."

"Kind of hope I get to see her soon. It's weird petting something invisible." Allen was putting his forehead against the creature's.. beak. "Wanna have a go, uncle?"

Neah shook his head. "I'm fine."

His nephew regarded him for a moment in a way that implied he'd be asking a lot of questions later. Hagrid was more subtle about it, concerned in the way one felt for a stranger, or a distant colleague. Very adult-like. Not like Marian, who wore 90% of his emotions on his face and the put the rest into his words.

Neah looked at the thestral and thought about the people he killed, who tried to kill him first.

He thought about Mana and knew, for a fact, why Allen couldn't see the thing he was touching.

Draco thought, belatedly, that he should have heeded the Mudblood's warning.

It was disgusting to even _think_ about, but she was right.

"Have you seen my grandson? He goes to your school."

The man was tall, too tall. Too tall and too big, with a hat that towered over them and sat upon a head that looked too small, wrapped up in a coat that seemed too round. The way he spoke gave off the feeling of a smile, something _cheery_. Jovial.

The way he looked was somber and dead.

"Funny question to ask," Draco spat. He didn't like this man. Didn't like the way he looked or the way he stood, the way he talked. His eyes kept going over to the pumpkin-headed walking stick. "You've been bothering my classmates, haven't you?"

"I've done no such thing, my boy. I'm only looking for my grandson, we were supposed to meet at the pub here."

"He look like you?" Crabbe asked. Draco appreciated the effort to make him feel like he wasn't going at it alone. It was a piss poor effort, because Draco could tell he was nervous, but it was an effort at least. "We don't know no one like that."

"Oh, he doesn't look like me at all! I have a photo, here— he's quite young in it, of course, I haven't seen him in _years_ now, but I expect he looks much the same. 'Bout your age he'd be, now..."

The man reached into his coat and took out a little square of paper. To Draco's relief, the person in the photo was moving. It was a kid, younger than himself, definitely shorter. A boy, probably, if the man was looking for his son. The photo's color was dulled by how old and creased it was, but it was probably a dark red once, and the eyes were dark too.

The man smiled, kind of... differently. Kind of warm, like how Draco's mother would smile. He'd never seen his father do anything like that before.

"His name is Allen Walker," said the man. He sounded proud, very proud. That much Draco could recognize. "Do you know him?"


	6. i'm made of gold, i'm made of home

halloween pt 2

practically all of it was written during nano with vvvveeery minimal editing due to... Reasons, so.

eeeeeenjoy. i forgot to upload this when i posted on ao3... oops. double update for you guys

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 **6: i'm made of gold, i'm made of home**

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"How about these?"

"Acid Pops, Ronald?" Hermione said for the— she'd lost count of how many times by now. She skimmed the little label sticker. "...It says here he'll lose his tongue."

"They grow back easy, Hermione. It's only a bit of a hole, anyway. Fred 'n George make each other eat them all the time."

"You've really got to stop using your brothers as a moral compass."

"It's _candy_."

She withheld a another groan and an eyeroll, and instead threw two Acid Pops into the wicker handbasket. She just had to make sure Harry read the warning labels before eating them, or else give him a list of all the side-effects these sweets would give him. It'd be awful if he 'accidentally' missed class because of a hole in his tongue.

Honestly, it was still _weird_ how casually Wizarding families regarded things like that. Candies that made you float and fly, burned holes in your tongue, little cakes with icing that bubbled and frothed like it was boiling despite being room temperature.. there was even an the equivalent of a chocolate lava cake, filled with _actual_ lava. Or what looked like lava, anyway.

Ron was grabbing handfuls of things from just about every candy display in Honeyduke's. Hermione had no idea if he knew what everything was or if he was just grabbing everything for them to try when they got back to the castle. She was willing to believe it was a little bit of both.

" _Ugh_ ," he suddenly said, shoving the rest of his armload into the basket. "Slytherins just walked in."

"They're just _buying candy_ , Ronald. It's not that big of a deal."

"I don't like the idea of buying the same things they're buying."

" _There's only one candy shop in Hogsmeade._ "

"Then we tell Harry he'll just have to go without for the next month. Snakey germs all over his chocolate, I'm sure he'll understand."

Hermione started to say something, but then caught Ron trying not to laugh and couldn't stop herself from laughing, too.

"Honestly, I don't think he'd care. Now, if _Malfoy_ was pocketing some of this too, he might have a bit of a problem with it—"

Malfoy chose that moment to show up, and Ron choked on the chewing gum he nearly swallowed.

"Don't _hide_ ," she hissed, grabbing a handful of his sweatshirt before he could dive behind the aisle of chocolates.

"I don't wanna look at him!"

"If he sees us he might _leave_."

Ron made a face, but pretended to keep browsing the shelves nonetheless. Hermione kept tabs on Malfoy from the corner of her eyes.

He _did_ see them, and he looked like he was going to bolt right away, but instead stayed in the store for a full 10 minutes squeezing through people and looking at everything on the shelves. Hermione wondered if rich wizards had some special place they got their treats from. Malfoy looked unimpressed by everything he saw.

Eventually he was approached by the other two Slytherins that had entered before him. Hermione recognized them as older students, but couldn't place where she'd seen them before otherwise.

In the end, they vanished into some corner of the store and Ron finally stopped mumbling under his breath.

"D'you think we should get him some Butterbeer?"

"Haven't had any before," she said. "But I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to let him try some. It's not got actual _beer_ in it, has it?"

"..Probably not?"

Of course. There were never any ingredient labels on anything in the Wizarding world, besides allergy warnings. Likely it didn't contain any alcohol, or if it did, not enough to be concerned about. Having a handful of teachers accompanying them hardly counted as adult supervision, especially if there was rarely one around.

McGonagall was probably watching them from somewhere, though. It seemed like she had eyes everywhere.

"Excuse me!"

Hermione jumped about an inch off the ground and whirled around. It was one of the Slytherins Malfoy had been talking to, the girl. Malfoy himself was just a few paces away, scowling at them.

"Can you pass me a tin of those pineapples?" she asked.

"Oh—" Hermione hadn't realized how crowded it had gotten in the past few minutes. Even if she wanted to move out of the way, there wasn't any room to do so. "Um— sugared or soured? Chocolate covered?"

Ron leaned over. "Give 'em whichever costs more."

"Cheapest one, if you could!"

"I'm not giving him some 2-Knut nonsense," Malfoy protested. "Granger! Get me _the_ most expensive thing there."

"I'm not for sale," she said under her breath. Ron snorted a laugh into his hand. "Ronald, could you grab that one? I can't reach—"

"I'm not getting anything for _him_."

"Then get _two_ , we'll buy one for Harry."

Ron was muttering something about the cost again, looking like he wanted to put it back, and after she double-checked the price she wanted to do the same, too. Even knowing the exchange rate in British pounds, it was still hard to wrap her mind around the Wizarding currency system. Her parents had been confused by it too, but they still helped her figure out the best way to manage what money she decided to bring with her to Hogwarts.

These locally sourced Crystallised Maple Sugar Pineapples had better be worth it. She was pretty sure this hadn't been included in their budgeting plan.

"Hang on—" Ron yanked on her arm once the Slytherins had gone. "Did he say _him_? Malfoy's giving sweets to a _bloke_?"

"I was trying not to think about it, Ronald."

"..He's not trying to poison someone, is he?"

"These things cost almost a _full Galleon_ , not even Malfoy would spend that kind of money just to poison a classmate."

"If someone sends you a gift, like a box o' chocolates, big expensive box, with an unsigned note that says _'From your admirer'_ , you'd eat it wouldn't you? I mean _big_ , big and _very_ fancy and expensive." Ron rattled the tin between them to make his point. "This is almost a full Galleon!"

Hermione pressed her lips together in thought. It was true that the whole thing sounded innocent enough that she might actually accept an anonymously gifted box of chocolates, supposing that it had no indication of being opened before. Magic was capable of a lot, she'd found, including perfectly re-wrapping a package that had been previously opened.

"..Then if anyone tries to give Harry some pineapple candies later, we'll have to throw it into the rubbish bin."

"What a waste," Ron mumbled. "...Suppose you could get an antidote for it? Or make one? You're brilliant at Potions."

"Thank you, Ronald." She rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep from smiling, just a little bit. "Let's just keep a bezoar handy."

"I don't envy anyone who's got to swallow one of those."

Hermione put another box of of Bertie Bott's into their handbasket, since Harry mentioned liking them quite a bit.

 _"Essence of vomit notwithstanding, anyway. And bogeys. And toad. And-"_

There were apparently a lot of things Harry did not like about his supposedly favorite brand of sweets. Not that Hermione didn't understand the sentiment.

After they finished paying for everything, they bumped into Malfoy's new and upgraded trio in the queue. Malfoy was still looking at his tin of pineapples in disdain, and even scowled when he caught them looking. The other two had basketfuls of stuff.

"Having a party, are you?" Ron sniffed. He didn't mean it kindly. "Must be nice."

"What?" The girl looked between them. "Oh! No, no, these are for someone else. He couldn't make it so we're getting it for him."

"Don't say it like that," the other one says, digging an elbow into her side. "You make it sound like we're running an errand for him."

"Oh. He's paying us, of course."

Ron looked over at her. "D'you suppose we would—"

" _No_ ," Hermione said before he could finish his question.

"Rats."

"Heading out already?" The girl asked after looking at their haul. Hermione couldn't tell if she was mocking them for how little they'd bought.

"We've got a _whole_ lot of other stuff to get," Ron said. "Can't go spending all of it in one place, can we?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed him out of the shop. She gave the Slytherins an awkward, strained sort of smile, and the other girl waved back just as awkwardly.

"Stop _posturing_ , Ronald," she said when they passed by Crabbe and Goyle outside the store's entrance and Ron gave them the stinkeye.

"They're showing off! Did you _see_ how much chocolate they were getting?"

"What does that matter? It's not like they're going to parade about Hogwarts with a bucket full of sweets for everyone to _gaze upon_ with envy."

"How d'you know they wouldn't do that?"

She didn't even bothering responding to that.

Unlike most students here, she hadn't been raised on stories about Slytherins and what they were or weren't like. She only knew about Malfoy, which Ron would say was ' _all she really needed to know about Slytherins_.'

In any case, it wasn't a matter Hermione had any interest in debating. There was no reason to dwell on it that much.

"Come on. Let's just grab a few more things and have a look around. I've never seen an all-Wizarding village before."

Ron muttered something, but brightened up nonetheless.

Never mind that it was his first time coming to Hogsmeade too, he knew more about it off-hand than she did. Not to mention he knew more about things that weren't written in the book, like which shops were always glad to have them as customers on their first visit, which ones didn't, and the many various ways one could try to sneak past the shrunken heads at The Three Broomsticks.

There were about to try a Confundus Charm when a commotion further down the street caught Hermione's attention.

"Is that a street performer?" she asked.

"A _what_?"

"That there." She pointed at a larger figure talking to some of their classmates as they passed by. "Maybe he's doing magic tricks?"

"...Hermione."

"What? Oh— oh, right." She laughed nervously. Right. "Sorry. Um, Muggles.. well, if you walk down some streets in Muggle cities, you can see people on the roadside. They play music, or do little performances. Like... 'magic'."

She made sure to emphasize the word with quotes using her fingers. It was still weird to think of magic that way, knowing that it was actually.. well. Real.

"Oh." Ron frowned. "What for?"

"Er... for money, mostly. I suppose."

"..Y'think he wants money?"

"Maybe?" She shrugged. She wasn't going to stop someone from begging. But then she thought about it some more and frowned too. "...What sort of man asks for money from kids?"

"OI!" Ron shouted, storming towards the group. Hermione was startled by the sudden noise, but she followed him all the same. "What d'you think you're doing?"

The man had been talking to some students, apparently, until they started trying to go on their way. He wasn't letting them walk by and kept following them, which was when Ron ran up to them. Well. Stomped through the snow up to them.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked the girls once Ron had the stranger's attention. There were some other adults starting to look over at them, too. Good.

"Fine," said one. She didn't look very happy. Hermione recognized Romilda Vane underneath the heavy winter coat she was wearing. "..He was just being a bit pushy."

"Looked like more than a bit to me."

"What do _you_ know?" Romilda said in a huff before turning to leave with her friends.

Hermione watched one of the stall-owners ask if she was alright, and she gave them the same answer, though she was a bit.. nicer about it.

She turned back just in time to catch the last of whatever that man was trying to ask Ron.

"..gwarts students as well?" The man was showing Ron a photo. Probably what he'd been showing Romilda and the others, too. "My grandson is a student there.. we were supposed to meet in Hogsmeade, but I can't seem to find him. Have you seen him anywhere?"

Ron gave her a weird look, to which she shrugged. It probably wouldn't hurt to help. She didn't feel very good about how 'pushy' he must've been with Romilda.

"Those girls, they said they'd never seen him before.. But I know he goes to Hogwarts. Please, I just want to see my grandson."

The man didn't look quite old enough to be a grandfather. He was older, of course, but not.. _old_ old. His clothes made him look like he was stuck in time— youthful, but in a different era.

"Hogwarts is pretty big, mister," said Ron. He hadn't even looked at the photo for more than a second. "If he's in a different House, we wouldn't even know if he's there or not."

"A different house?"

"Yeah, different House. You don't know?" Ron squinted at the man. "You don't know about Hogwarts Houses? Where're you from?"

" _Ronald_!" Hermione hissed, yanking him back by his elbow.

"What? It's a logical question!"

She gave him a _look_ and went to have a peek at the photo herself.

"...That's—" She frowned. "..Er. Well, it- it looks a bit like.."

"Do you know him?" The man was beaming now, to the extent that Hermione would almost feel bad if she admitted she didn't know for sure. "His name is Allen Walker."

He didn't say _Allen Walker-Campbell_ , and for some reason, it gave Hermione the chills.

"..We know a few Allens," she said. "None in Gryffindor though. A least, not any that I've met before in Gryffindor. I don't know about the other Houses."

Then she remembered that the man probably didn't know about the House system at Hogwarts.

"They're- sort of like factions. Student groups. We really only interact with people in our own Houses regularly. Those girls are in Gryffindor, like us."

"I see." The man looked crestfallen now. He looked at the photo in his hands for a while longer, then tucked it into his coat again. "Perhaps I should ask someone from another.. House, was it?"

"I. I suppose? There really are a lot of Allens though, you'd be asking around all day—"

"I have time to spare." The man smile at them, like an elderly grandfather would. Felt kind, if.. cold. "But thank you for your concern."

She pulled Ron away until they were under the roof of another store. Surprisingly, Ron did not complain.

The man was still looking around, but he seemed to ignoring the students passing him by until he approached another group. They were wearing their school robes, so he must have figured they were going by the colored trimmings on their clothes.

Hermione wondered if she should have mentioned that part at all.

"Who is that?" Ron asked in a hiss. "Why's he looking for Walker? _Grandson_?"

"They don't look anything alike," Hermione agreed. "Did you see that photo?"

"Did you see that _hair_? Walker hasn't got _red hair_ , has he?"

"..I think he dyes it. Did you notice, the other day? I think his roots were starting to grow in."

" _No_ ," Ron said, like in a whine. "I don't take time to _inspect his hair_ , Hermione. That's just _weird_."

"Did you catch his name?"

"What, _Allen Walker_? Merlin, that sounds weird. Like it's missing something."

"Not _Allen's_ — that man. Did he say what his name was?"

Ron made a noise like a scoff. "If he did I wasn't paying attention. Was too busy trying not to make fun of his hat. Who wears a hat like that these days?"

"You're implying people have ever worn hats like _that_ before?"

"Well, yeah. Loads of people did. Dad has one in the shed, he's put all sorts of things on it. Apparently they were all the rage a few years back... Never seen him wear it, though."

Hermione tried to imagine Ron's dad donning a top hat three heads tall, covered in things like pocket watches and other 'Muggle artifacts'.

"..At least it's not got skulls on it?" She offered hopefully. "Or.. pumpkins."

"Yeah..." He trailed off.

"..Let's just get back to, um. Looking around."

"I think we've seen just about everything."

Ron had conveniently forgotten that they still hadn't broken into The Three Broomsticks yet. Hermione was not going to remind him of it.

"It's not time to go back yet, so.."

"...We could have a look at Zonko's again?"

"I guess." It might have been an all-Wizarding village, but it was still a village. Small and quaint. Not a lot going on. There _was_ one thing Hermione wanted to do first, though. "You go on ahead, Ron. I'll be there in a bit."

"You're sure? You can find it yourself? You won't get lost, right? I don't want to have to go around looking for you."

She swatted Ron on the arm. He grinned a little and went off towards the joke shop.

Hermione turned around and prepared to head straight back to Honeyduke's, but luckily she didn't have to go far to find who she was looking for.

"—What do _you_ want, Granger?" Malfoy spat out the moment he realized she had, in fact, stopped in front of him. "Trying to steal candy from your classmates?"

"Ha ha." She rolled her eyes. It only made him scowl more, which was fine. "I just wanted to warn you about that man over there, with the hat. I've no idea who he is, but he's asking all the Hogwarts students he can find about some Slytherin he's looking for, so don't talk to him. He's.. odd."

"A Slytherin?" Malfoy looked a mix of offended and annoyed. "Who?"

"Um." She hesitated. "...Walker. I think."

" _Allen_ Walker?"

"Allen Walker- _Campbell_ ," she corrected.

"I know my own Housemate's name," Malfoy sneered. "Get out of my way."

"What?" She stepped aside anyway, because Crabbe and Goyle were big, and she did not fancy being barreled over by a bunch of annoying teen boys. "What are you doing?"

"None of your _business_ , Granger."

She could clearly see that he was intending to either confront the man or give him the answers he was looking for. Either way, she'd done her piece. If Walker got in trouble later on because of this, it would be Malfoy's fault.

...Still. Hermione didn't actually dislike Walker that much, aside form that slight kneejerk reaction of him being Slytherin.

"Hey!" she called out, waving at the other two that had been with Malfoy earlier, in Honeyduke's. Luckily _they_ hadn't gone off too far, either. "You're Malfoy's friends, right?"

They looked at each other. The boy made a face and a handwiggle. "...Eeehhn?"

"What he said," the girl said, or didn't say. It explained nothing. "Why? Is Draco off to do something stupid again?"

"Er... well." Well. Eeehh— oh, that made a lot more sense now. "That man over there, the one in the hat? He's looking for... well, he's looking for someone named _Allen_. Allen Walker."

"Walker? Walker couldn't make it."

"I know. I mean, I though as much, since you're buying candy for him. Anyway, that man, he's a bit— okay, he's _really_ odd, so I tried to.. sort of, warn Malfoy not to talk to him." Jeez, that sounded bad. _Warning Malfoy_... Still, it's nothing Harry probably wouldn't have done, given the circumstances. "No idea what he wants or who he is, he's been bothering everyone the entire time. But, Malfoy... well, you know how he is."

"Ah, yes. I see him running to be a gallant knight in shining armor. There he goes!"

"Hey." The boy tugged at the other's sleeve. "That's... you don't think it's— it can't be, right?"

"...Oh." The girl let out a small gasp. "Oh. Oh no, oh... Draco! Draco get back here! Slàine, go stop him."

"Why me?"

"You run faster. _Go_!"

" _Un_ believable." The boy shook his head and grumbled, but took off anyway.

He _was_ pretty fast, for a student in a school that didn't have any sort of regularly required physical education besides sitting on a broomstick for extended periods of adrenaline-fueled time.

"Thanks," said the girl. "For letting us know. Merlin help us if Draco's done something really stupid."

"Like... telling him where Walker is?"

"Like telling him that Walker's in the school, yeah."

Hermione couldn't help but frown. "Why? Do you know who it is? What does he want with Walker?"

The other girl let out a heavy sigh, squinting at where the man and Malfoy and that Slàine fellow were having a squabble. Then, she beckoned Hermione closer and leaned in like she was going to tell some sort of huge secret.

"...Allen said it might be a debt collector."

A what.

"A _what_?"

"A debt collector. Someone who—"

"I'm sorry— I know what it is, I just—" Hermione shook her head. What? "... _What_?"

"..What?"

"A.. a _debt_ — why is a debt collector looking for _Walker_?"

"Iiiii'm not sure that's my story to tell." The girl looked apologetic. For a Slytherin, anyway. Granted, Hermione's main experience with Slytherins so far was Malfoy's gang, and Pansy Parkinson. "But it's something to do with Allen's... other dad. Guardian person. And why they're here at Hogwarts... Probably."

Probably.

"...Oh boy. I think I—" They were shouting over there now, though Hermione couldn't tell if it was bad or not. Maybe that boy Slytherin just liked shouting a lot. She couldn't hear Malfoy, at least. "Hey, um- Granger, right?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. "Hermione Granger."

"Malinda Seymound. Fourth Year." Seymound grinned. "Slytherin, as you know. And that fellow who ran away is Glenmoor. Anyway, thanks again! I'm going to... go make sure they don't blow up the street. SLÀINE!" she shouted. " _PUT YOUR WAND AWAY!_ "

Sometimes, Hermione felt like the Slytherin House, for all its pomp and stuffiness, was just as reckless and destructive as Gryffindors could be. For different reasons, maybe.

She didn't leave until she realized that Seymound had gone off to fetch the Slytherin Head Girl over as well. She was pretty sure that, if it had been Harry or Ron or another Gryffindor in the same position, they wouldn't have gone off looking for their House Heads or Prefects.

...Well. Hermione might have.

Probably.

/ / / / /

Ron wasn't waiting at Zonko's. He hadn't even made it to the shop, he was still at the end of the street. The man with the big hat was still visible from there.

"Hey," Hermione said. She thought about apologizing for taking too long, but it looked like Ron had seen the whole thing.

He looked a bit nervous, too.

"Why are they shouting?"

"Well..." She wondered how to explain it. ".. _Apparently_ , Walker and his uncle might be on the run from some debt collectors, and he didn't come to Hogsmeade because those people might be here."

"..Oh." Ron nodded, slowly. Then he blinked and looked at Hermione. "Wait, _what_?"

"That's what I said." It didn't make sense, and those two Slytherins didn't seem like they were going to tell her anything else about it. Hermione didn't like it when things didn't make sense. "Anyway, they've called over the Head Girl, so they've got it taken care of."

"Merlin's beard. _Debt collectors_ in Hogsmeade?" Ron gave a little laugh that was definitely more to diffuse the tension than because he found it funny. "I mean, what's next? Sirius Black?"

"If you jinx us, Ronald, I'm going to get you locked in the Restricted Section. At night."

"..You told them we were being hounded by _debt collectors_?"

Allen waited for Neah to stop laughing. It took... a while.

They had finished the so-called tour of the grounds. It was a lot more entertaining than the rundown they were given in class, though Hagrid wouldn't let them go down to see the things in the Great Lake. Neah tried to demonstrated a Full-Body Bubble Charm, along with his _magnificent_ Grindylow repellent capabilities, to no avail.

Allen suspected the Charm was a bit leaky, and was glad that Hagrid just really diligent about keeping them out of trouble.

(He was half-right, anyway.)

"Yeh owe money, do yeh?" Hagrid poured another round of hot cider while Neah tried to cough up his lung. "I try not to borrow any meself. Not that there's a lot o' folk willin' ter lend to... well, to folks like me."

"We're not... er." Allen didn't know how to say it without sounding like... like _that_. "We don't owe anyone any money. It's.. my guardian. He tends to, well. Spend a lot. Y'know, eat-and-run?"

"Tha's terrible. An' he leaves you ter pay fer it?"

"He _tried_ , but he stopped after I nearly splinched myself trying to Apparate after him."

"Marian did _what_."

"What?" Allen looked a his uncle, who seemed to have sobered up pretty quickly. "You don't know? I thought he would've told you about that."

"About the leaving without paying, yeah. He never mentioned getting you _splinched_."

" _Nearly_! I'm still in one piece." He thought about that for a moment. "...Mostly."

Neah muttered something about _I'll give him a talking to later_ , which probably meant they were going to stay up all night whispering to each other again. Allen reminded himself to grab a set of Neah's Auricular Enhancers for some late night reading. His uncle had plenty of them.

"..The point is!" He remembered what they'd been talking about. "My, er, guardian, may have gotten in trouble with some of the finer Wizarding folk. So we're in hiding. Because Neah doesn't want to pay Cross's debts for him."

"A man pays his own debts!" Neah said loudly. He downed a mug of lukewarm cider in one go. "If he can't pay them, then he should stop wandering into every single pub in existence."

"Maybe he should stop buying women, too," Allen added. He knew more than enough what most of Cross's debts were owed to. "And things for women. And men."

Neah got himself another mug of cider. "Well he can't afford _me_ , so I won't begrudge him that part."

" _Uncle!_ " Allen hissed.

He shot a look at his professor, wondering if Neah had had a little too much to drink and was getting a carried away. This wasn't.. exactly something to be talked about in polite company. Or company in general.

To his relief, Hagrid just shook his head and chortled. If Hagrid thought anything of it at all, it didn't show on his face. Granted, he'd had a lot of mead earlier, too, and Allen couldn't really tell the difference between drunk-irritated and just plain drunk. Cross was never that emotive. Especially not after a few bottles of dark red.

He wished Neah didn't have the same problem. The smell of it was starting to get a little tiring, even if Neah cleaned up better than Cross ever did.

Neah had at least managed to keep it to one or two glasses a night when they were going through France. Now, Allen couldn't really tell, since he was in class most of the weekdays. Whenever Neah helped him with school work on weekends, he didn't... smell. Either he was drinking less now, or getting rid of the evidence better.

Allen wasn't sure which one he preferred more.

"..Yeh alrigh' there, Walker?" Hagrid peered into the pitcher he'd been pouring from. "I didn' bring out brandy by mistake, did I?"

Allen sniffed his mug. "..Smells like cider to me. Is my uncle drinking this too?"

"Should be. Ran outta mead— my fault, tha'. Might have some other stuff, but—" Hagrid leaned over to whisper, although which how loud he was whispering, it didn't make much of a difference. "Yeh said not ter give him too much ter drink. An' I think he's had enough, besides."

"One man's alcohol tolerance is another man's daily liquid intake," Neah said, plaintively.

Allen reached over and slowly slid the empty mug away. "You're the guest, uncle, you can't get dead drunk in someone else's home."

Neah let out a grunt and eyed the mug, but didn't try to take it back.

"Y'seem ter be settlin' in at Hogwarts well enough," Hagrid said, not unkindly. "Both o' yeh."

"It's school." Allen shrugged. "It's okay. Better than my other one."

"Definitely," Neah added. "Not that I have any idea what _Rosa Croce_ is like. But mine wasn't much different from it. Did you go to Hogwarts, Rebeus?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I did. Never graduated, on account o' some matters, but Dumbledore let me stay on as Gamekeeper. This year's me first teachin'."

"Allen tells me you're doing quite a good job of it," Neah chirped.

"Well.. There's been some, uh. Complications." Hagrid looked pleased to hear it, but also worried. Allen could guess why.

"Mm. It's a shame you had to have a student like that. Buckbeak is a fine creature."

"He wouldn't even let you pet him," Allen said.

"I don't go around executing dragons for not letting me rub their bellies."

"Malfoy wouldn't do that," Allen and Hagrid said at the same time. They looked at each other, and Neah looked at them too.

"..Sure, the boy might not. But his father's a different matter, isn't it?"

Allen kicked his uncle under the table. Impressively, Neah did not jump at all, and for a moment Allen thought he might have missed and kicked the chair instead.

"I s'pose," Hagrid said morosely, taking another swig of cider. "If it's Malfoy senior, I wouldn't put it past him ter try it. Dumbledore'd do everything to stop me gettin' sacked."

"I'm.. I'm sure it'll be fine, professor," Allen offered. He really did like Buckbeak. "One person can't have that much power. Can they? He doesn't even work in the Ministry, from what I've heard."

"You haven't seen me and Marian face down the Vatican," Neah muttered.

"..Uncle, you've never done that. Ever."

"Yeah, because we've never had to. Not that they'd _ever_ want to meet with _me_."

"Looks like we've all got Ministry troubles, eh?"

"That we do, my dear." Neah laughed briefly, then reached out like he was going to take a commemorative drink, before realizing that Allen had already confiscated it. He sighed, a bit dejected. "That we do."

Hagrid had some other things to finish up before the Hallowe'en feast, so they parted ways. He thanked them for spending time with him, in spite of it all, and that he would see them at the feast in a bit.

Neah wasn't quite as drunk as they thought he was, but he'd still had enough that it was best they didn't rush to make it back to the castle.

"..Not quite how I thought about spending a Sunday," Allen said quietly, "but it wasn't bad."

"You've still got half a Sunday left."

"Yeah... do to homework."

"You could think of ways to stop Malfoy senior from doing his evil deeds."

"Like what?" Allen's faced scrunched up. "Appeal to Malfoy junior?"

"Sure, why not. See, Allen? This is why you need to make friends in high places. To rig rigged court rulings."

Allen rolled his eyes. "The things we do for justice."

He was probably not going to do it. But if nothing else, Allen would _think_ about it, and that would inadvertently have some effect on the universe. With any luck, Malfoy senior just might listen to reason. Or to his son.

If not... Well. Marian had a gun.

It wasn't a _real_ gun, of course, but it was effective enough, for these purposes.

"D'you think they're back from Hogsmeade yet?"

"Miss your friends already?"

"No. They have my candy."

Neah hummed increasingly loudly until Allen elbowed him in the side. "I think they should be. Marian mentioned the permissions form said something about curfew, what with the whole escaped prisoner debacle going on."

"Oh, right. That." Allen turned his head to the sky. The moon was just barely visible behind a sheet of clouds, even though the sun hadn't quite gone down yet. "..Do they honestly believe a mass murderer would just show up in some place like- like _Hogsmeade_?"

"I'm in Hogwarts, aren't I?" Allen made another face, but didn't say anything else. Neah gave him a quick pat on the head. "Come on. Lets see if dinner's been set out yet."

" _Now_ who's the one with the appetite?"

"Still you, boy." As if to make a traitorous point, both of their stomachs growled at the same time. "..Hm. I guess Rubeus' rhubarb pie wasn't as filling as I thought."

"That was rhubarb?" Allen balked. "..That was a _pie_?"

"..Did you eat it without knowing what it was?"

"You were eating it, too. I figured it was safe!"

"Allen... I've been eating untreated Gummy Ficus fruits for months. I probably had an ulcer the size of Romania."

His nephew gave him the flattest look he'd ever seen. "I'm very glad you had that checked out."

"Not really. The Dittany fixed it. Mostly."

" _Uncle_ —"

"Do you smell that?" He inhaled with exaggerated effect, taking Allen by the shoulders and steering him in the direction of the scent. " _Food_."

His nephew grumbled but let himself be guided along, probably because he was hungry too. And because he'd get himself lost if he tried to go off by himself.

"..This isn't the way to the Great Hall," Allen said after a minute. Indeed, they seemed to be going deeper and deeper into the castle, rather than to anything Neah recognized.

"It's where the smell is coming from, though." Neah tapped at his chin. "Perhaps they haven't set it out yet."

Allen looked around. "..I guess we can only go back, then."

"Seems like it."

He grabbed Allen's shoulder just as the boy tried to go down the path they'd just been going, and pulled him back the way they'd come.

Neah was afraid they were going to get even _more_ lost, but his worries seemed to be in vain. They soon found the rest of the school funneling down the halls in the same direction.

He still didn't let go of Allen though. Just in case.

"Allen?"

They both turned to see who it was. Allen waved. " _Ciao_ , Harry."

"Hi. Er- _ciao_?"

"Close enough." Allen laughed a little. He greeted the other two who were with the Potter boy as well, the redhead and the girl. "Did you guys just get back from the village?"

"They did. I didn't get to go this time."

"Me neither. I've been hugging Hippogriffs all day. They're really sweet!" he insisted after seeing the redhead make an expression of abject horror. "I take it this is the way to the Great Hall?"

" _Please_ take him with you, Mr. Potter," Neah said, nudging Allen over to them. "I would be _beside_ myself with worry if I found out I had let him go and he ended up halfway across school grounds instead of at the Great Hall, warmed up and tucking in."

"Your sarcasm continues to amaze me, uncle," Allen said blithely.

"Um." Potter looked at his companions, who didn't seem all too enthusiastic, but didn't display any outward gesture of refusal, either. "..Sure, I guess. We're all going the same way, anyway."

"Thank you," Neah said to Potter and his friends. Then he squinted at his nephew. "What sarcasm? I really would worry, and you really would get lost."

Allen inspected the fake nails on the fake hand of his fake arm. "You're embarrassing me," he said, very much not embarrassed.

"Lies and slander." Neah gave him another pat on the shoulder. "Have a good meal. Don't eat so much we have to carry you out. Thanks again, Mr. Potter. And friends."

"You're not going, Mr. Campbell?"

"I'm afraid I drink too much for polite company. In fact, I've had too much to drink for polite company."

"That's not true," Allen said. "You just want to have an entire pumpkin pie all to yourself."

"As if you weren't already planning to do the same thing at the feast, nephew. _Ciao!_ "

" _Ciaaaooo_."

Some of the students passing by gave them weird looks. The ones who recognized him were largely from Slytherin. The older students managed polite greetings while the younger ones, most of whom had never seen him before, openly stared at the exchange until they were ushered along with the crowd.

Neah watched them funneling down the hall for a bit longer, then left for the dorm.

/ / / / /

Allen really was fitting in well. The daily breakfast and dinner gatherings weren't required by any means, but it was still customary for students and staff to attend. Neah was not a staff member yet, and so was not expected to be present.

Allen, however, was a student. While it wasn't a spoken rule, Prefects and House Heads were told that exceptions could be made in the event of personal issues, family matters, and homework deadlines, if someone from their house were to be found absent from the Great Hall during mealtimes.

Never mind the fact that Allen did not even stay in the House Dorms. That was an entirely different matter.

From what Neah heard, _Rosa Croce_ 's student population was drastically less than the Academy had, so mealtimes were even less of a deal than they were in Neah's time. For people like them, being in a crowd wasn't exactly... safe. And there was, really, no way to gauge how any of them would react around that many people.

Neah and Marian had had enough time to desensitize themselves to it. Allen.. did not have that same grace.

Fortunately, Allen didn't remember what happened.

 _Un_ fortunately, Memory Charms were not exactly Neah's forte. Which was why he was even here in the first place. To make sure nothing went unduly wrong.

Seemed like everything was fine. So far.

 _"..You said he hugged a Hippogriff? The same one that shredded some kid's arm?"_

"Mm-hm."

 _"What **idiot** is teaching that class?"_

"The man is three-and-a-half meters tall, Marian. He could teach about _cheres_ and it'd be fine. Except for the one idiot who tries to touch one without wearing Dragonhide gloves and complains when his hand rots off, which is more or less what happened, from what I hear."

 _"Christ,"_ Marian muttered. _"How are you even still sane?"_

Neah let out a snort. "I'm not teaching anything until next year. Dumbledore wants to get an idea of what the subject will be like first, so I've got... homework."

Marian actually laughed. He knew that Neah hated homework, as much as he didn't mind helping Allen with his on occasion.

 _"Three meters tall? What is he, a Titan?"_

"I didn't ask. Titans aren't real, anyhow."

 _"He's **three meters tall** and that doesn't bother you?"_

"Three-and-a-half. And, no, it doesn't bother me. Why?" Neah grinned, even though Marian wouldn't see it. "Does it bother _you_?"

He heard a grunt instead of a reply and couldn't help but laugh in return.

"Allen doesn't mind him. We followed him around the grounds for a few hours. It's a bigger than _Rosa Croce_ , I think."

 _" **Rosa Croce** is an abandoned cathedral in the middle of Vatican City. **Every school** is bigger than it."_

The Academy wasn't. Hadn't been. But Neah didn't say it out loud, because he didn't enjoy being reminded of the Academy any more than Marian did.

 _"Campbell?"_

"Hmm?"

 _"Don't fall asleep on me,"_ Marian said with a grunt. _"What's going on? I know you didn't call just to update me on how the brat's doing."_

"Can't a man call you up just to chat?"

 _"You hate chatting."_

"Marian, I love chatting. _You_ hate it, so I don't like chatting with _you_. Because you suck at it."

 _"Oi, watch it—"_

" _I heard_ from Allen," Neah interrupted, spinning the jar on the table like it was a soda bottle, "that he got splinched while Apparating under your watch."

 _"If you were wondering about his arm,"_ Marian growled back, _"don't. It's been missing since we found him. Unless you've forgotten that part."_

"Of course I haven't." Even if Allen might have.

 _"..I wasn't teaching him to Apparate either."_

"I know." Neah hummed. "He said he was running from your debt collectors."

Marian let out a swear. Neah tried not to smile, because, really, the only thing funny about this was Marian's accent, and now really wasn't the time for that.

 _"..He left his foot behind. We got it reattached easily enough."_

"Did anyone see? _Medea_ , Marian, you had him for barely four years and he manages to get _splinched_. How does that even happen?"

 _"It was an accident, alright? I didn't think they'd go after **him**."_ There was a heavy sigh on the other end. _"Everything's been taken care of. Cleaned up some stray memories and calmed him down a bit. He's fine."_

"His memories?" Neah tested carefully. "Or witnesses?"

 _"Witnesses, obviously. I'm not you."_

"Of course not," Neah said, and not unfondly. He waved the wand in his hand and sent his dinner plates to stack up neatly for the House Elves to retrieve. There weren't many, given that he was eating alone. "Where are you, anyhow?"

 _"Shit, uh.. hang on."_ Papers shuffled on Marian's end and the man muttered something else. _"Barcelona. I've been here for— **goddamn** —for the past week now."_

"..Did you take a _boat_ to Portugal? Are you _walking_ there?"

 _"I took the Poseidon Mediterranean Underground because I'm not a idiot, and honestly, I'd much rather have walked here. The thing is a mess and I hate it."_

"Really? I think the _kampoi_ are kind of endearing."

 _"They smell like fish."_

"Marian, they _are_ fish. You're travelling _underwater_ , of _course_ it smells like fish."

Marian repeated the words back to him in a mocking tone. The flame in the TeleFloo jar seemed to flicker accordingly. In a very mocking way.

Neah resisted the urge to snuff it out.

"Why are you still there, then? Don't tell me they've caught on already."

 _"They have, but that isn't the problem. I didn't exactly arrive in quietly, but it's been a week and no one's come looking yet."_

"Barcelona's pretty far from Portugal.. though I can't imagine they aren't watching all the nearby ports."

 _"They **are** watching, Campbell. I saw their agents at the port when I got here. They saw me, the knew who I was. They didn't **care**."_

"...That means you can keep searching without problems."

 _" **Or** I could be looking in the wrong place entirely. Are you **sure** it's in Portugal? Are you sure its anywhere even **near** here?"_

"It has to be," Neah said, more to himself than to Marian. "The Kamelots keep everything important near Portugal."

Marian sighed again, this time with a bit of a frustrated groan mixed in. _"Goddamn. I hate working for the Ministry."_

Neah made a sympathetic noise. "With any luck, you won't have to for much longer."

 _"Oh, sure. Then I'll be jobless, too."_

"Yoouuuu can be my teaching assistant...?"

"..Are you serious?"

Neah answered that with a non-committal hum and a shrug that Marian couldn't see. The man was quiet for another few seconds.

 _"That's... Sounds kinda hot."_

"You know what? Nevermind, you godless beast. You'd be a terrible influence on the kids."

 _"As if you ever cared about kids."_

"I'm going to be _teaching_ , Marian!" Neah insisted, hoping he sounded as offended as wanted Marian to think he felt. "How dare you imply I won't enjoy teaching a roomful of hellions not to blow themselves up."

 _"I love the sound of Campbell sarcasm first in the evening."_

"And I, your scathing wit. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

 _"Really?"_

"No." Marian made a brief 'tsk' in disappointment. "I _do_ feel warm and fuzzy, but that's the mead I had earlier."

 _"I'd complain, but.."_

"But.. you've already had a bottle of wine and have one more in the cups right now?"

 _"You drink sherry in Spain, heathen."_ As if to prove a point, Neah heard a glass being set down, supposedly after a hearty swig. Sorry. Sip. Marian did not 'swig' his alcohol. _"Finest **oloroso** that Vatican influence can get me."_

"I hope they're paying for it, too."

 _"I'm technically here on behalf of the Vatican Ministry, so, yeah. They're paying for it."_

"It is, quite honestly, still mind-boggling to think that you're actually doing _proper work_. You actually seem dependable for once, Marian."

 _"Still miles ahead of **you** , Campbell."_

" _I_ am supervising our son in a castle full of moving staircases, a giant squid in the lake, death horses that like to _eat owls_ , and under the same roof as the target of one particularly persistent serial killer. And the, well, _dissennatore_. Forgot about those."

 _"...So are you or are you not being responsible?"_

"That... depends on whether Allen survives school life."

 _" **Hey** —"_

"I'm _kidding_. He's wonderful, and I like him. He's not going to die."

 _" **He's wonderful and you like him?** You've only known him for three fucking days."_

"Three days, 3 months, and the better part of a year as pen pals." Neah ticked it off on his fingers. Had it really been a year since then? "That's plenty of time to get attached. Unlike _you_ , Marian, you had him for 4 years and all you can say is _I've put too much effort into taking care of this brat to see him keel over._ "

...Hey-

"..Which is exactly what you say about _me_. Marian?" There was no response. Neah leaned closer to the tiny flame in the tiny jar. "Hey. Marian."

He heard something like a low mutter, but the words were unintelligible over the miniature Floo transmission.

"Marian," Neah said, with all seriousness and gravity. He wished Marian was here so he could... stare at him. Eerily. "You've gotten attached to Allen, haven't you."

Again, there was no reply, which was not surprising. Marian had never been one to talk about things like... feelings. Personal thoughts. Neither did Neah, but Neah also had Mana to help him work that part out. As far as he knew, Marian didn't really have anyone.

"I mean, it's fine if you are. It's been 30 years. We deserve a little progress. No need to drown yourself in sherry to feel better about it. Were you actually serious about adopting Allen? I only pulled out the relative card because I didn't think you were serious about it. If you are... well, I don't suppose they'll let us change our decision? You can still be his godfather. Maybe. Do those have to be assigned at birth only? I don't think there's any way to hunt down his birth parents and modify their memories..." He waited a beat. "Marian? You're still there, right?"

This time he heard a series of footsteps, some more unintelligible muttering, and then something like a chair scrapping across the floor. Then—

 _"Sorry, what? Did you say something?"_

It took a lot of effort and willpower not to throw the jar. Instead, Neah stared at it for a good while, trying to figure out if Marian had actually gone off or if he was just deliberately avoiding the subject.

 _"Campbell? Oi. You didn't fall asleep, did you? Campbell!"_

He debated pretending to snore. Unfortunately, there weren't many benefits to doing that.

"Where'd you go? I've been calling you for hours," Neah said instead.

If Marian had actually stepped away, it was no problem. But if he was going to pretend to have not been there just to avoid a subject, then Neah could play at that too.

 _"I was barely gone a few minutes. Had to get another pack of cigarettes."_

Neah could almost believe that. The man had his vices and smoking was one of them. It did make him wonder where exactly Marian was staying and what he was doing there. since they'd never managed to find any Magical folk selling cigarettes before.

"A heads up would have been nice! I was talking to myself this whole time. Do you have any idea how boring that is?"

 _"I dunno. You do love the sound of your own voice."_

"Your implication that I have a tendency flirt with myself is mildly unnerving."

 _" **Mildly unnerving** is how I feel about everything you say."_

"...Okay, fine," Neah conceded, "but—"

He stopped again. And once again, Marian gave it a couple of seconds before asking if he was asleep, again.

He wasn't. But something had floated through the door of the room, even though it was closed. It was phoenix made of pure blue-white light.

"Marian, I'll call you back later."

 _"What?"_ This time the man sounded worried. _"Why? What's going on, Campbell?"_

Before he could cut the connection, the phoenix balled itself up and turned into a projection of Dumbledore's head.

" **Sirius Black has attempted to enter the Gryffindor Common Rooms,** " the projection said. Neah heard Marian inhale sharply. " **He was not successful. It is likely, however, that he is still inside the castle. All students are to be taken to the Great Hall, immediately. All staff members are to report to the Great Hall for further instruction. Move with great caution, and do not move alone, if possible.** "

The projection went quiet, and then began to repeat itself amidst the rapid _tap tap tap_ of approaching footsteps.

 _"..Neah—"_

Neah didn't wait for him to finish.

He flicked open the doors and thrust his wand forward at whomever it was that came rushing in.

* * *

[alaska thunderfuck voice] yet another cliffhanger

keres: death spirits similar to dementors, but causing rot and decay and feeding on the remains. may attack when in states of ravenous hunger. based on keres of actual greek mythology  
kampoi: fish-tailed creatures. e.g. hippokampoi (fish tailed horses), pardakampoi (fish tailed leopard), leokampoi, etc. based on actual mythological hippocampus, etc.  
poseidon mediterranean underground: an underground transport service, likely consisting of carriages drawn by the aforementioned kampoi


	7. a thousand armies won't stop me

hallowe'en pt... 3? maybe one more. one half more.

big. plot dump. i'm probably gonna make a post or something to clear up some details that have been revealed so far, if it's.. overly confusing. i mean if it's really confusing i ought to rewrite it to make it less confusing, first, so if it is... 'yknow. lemme know.

edit: i forgot he's not supposed to have a wand but he has one now. he just does.

* * *

 **7: a thousand armies won't stop me**

* * *

The entire Slytherin table was staring at him as he entered the Great Hall.

..Well. Most of them were staring at him. The ones in his year who actually knew him. And Malfoy too, who had looked away just briefly to make a nasty face at someone behind Allen.

Probably Harry, because when Allen glanced back, Harry and Weasely were both making faces back at him.

"Hey," he said as he sat down.

"Hey." Malinda looked at him weirdly.

"...What?""

She made a meaningful headtilt at the Gryffindor table. He pretended not to know what she meant and shrugged in response with a bewildered look.

"Potter?" She said. When he still didn't show any sign of understanding, she continued. " _Again_?"

"What? What about him?" he said in a hushed tone. The Headmaster was giving a short speech, much like he'd done at the opening ceremony. "I'm not allowed to make friends with other Houses?"

"No." The answer came from Wynfor, who was sitting across from Allen.

Malfoy hadn't said anything, but Allen could tell what he was thinking thanks to the look on his face.

"Okay, look." He looked at the two of them in turn to make his point. "I'll say this _one more time_ — I have no idea why you've all got this House rivalry thing going on, and frankly, I don't care much for it. Please leave me out of it?"

"You've never said that before," Wynfor pointed out.

"..Okay, I'll say it _once_ and never again. I don't want to get caught up in all this!"

"'Fraid that's not possible, Mister Walker-Campbell," said someone else a few seats down. Allen vaguely recognized him as one of the Slytherin Quidditch team's reserve beaters, Amsel. He looked tired, too. "You've already signed the pact. You have to honor the laws of our people, and that includes instigating hostilities against all other Hogwarts Houses at every possible moment."

"The— the what. When did I sign anything?"

"..When you gave the password to enter the Common Rooms the other day. It's a verbal pact."

"He didn't," said the girl next to Amsel. Allen almost couldn't hear her, with how softly she'd spoken. "Malinda did."

"What?" Amsel blinked. "Oh. Never mind then, Walker-Campbell, you're fine."

"Please," Allen said, "just Walker."

"No he's not fine!" Wynfor insisted. "By entering the Common Rooms, he still indirectly—"

Before Wynfor could say anything else, the food materialized onto the tables as it always did. A slice of pie flew into his mouth and he almost choked on it.

"So noisy." Adler put her wand away and yawned. "Just _eat_ , Wynfor. Who cares if he makes friends with centaurs or the Giant Squid in the lake."

"Why are you equating other Houses with quasi-sentient creatures on Hogwarts grounds?" Allen asked.

"Aren't we all just quasi-sentient creatures on Hogwarts grounds?" she replied, slopping down a pile of... it looked like creamed bogies.

Allen wasn't sure what to address first. Thankfully, their Head Girl had it covered.

"Nihilism is prohibited during Hallowe'en Feast," said Tapia. How she managed to hear them from the Seventh Year's end of the table, Allen would never know. "And before, and after, and for the two months following. Try the ants, Walker."

"Um.. sure." He reached over to get himself a small handful, then peered at them. "Chocolate-powdered?"

"Chocolate ants," Malinda said. "They're not _real_ ants."

Allen chewed a few of them. Tasted rather real to him.

He helped himself to some of everything else after. A pumpkin pasty, a serving of ghoulish goulash (it gave off a very eerie fog-like steam that really set the mood), and some of that treacle tart Harry had recommended, dotted with cream and little pumpkin candy decorations.

He'd never celebrated Hallowe'en like this before. _Rosa Croce_ wasn't a religious school, but being stationed in Vatican City as it were, they did observe Allhallowtide. Just.. not so much in the same way Hogwarts did Hallowe'en.

Theirs was a much more sombre affair, even amongst others who celebrated Allhallowtide. _Rosa Croce_ was just that sort of school.

Spending this kind of day in such a light-hearted manner was... warming, to say the least. Allen felt like there was less of a weight on his shoulders. Still, he also felt like it was missing something, something that he and his friends did every year.

There weren't any graves they could visit, here. No beacons to light, no bells to toll. No Jerry to help with the baking of soul-cakes.

Just a lot of really odd-looking food to eat.

"Oh, Allen—" Malinda suddenly shook his elbow. "Don't eat so much. You've still got half of Honeyduke's waiting back at the dorms."

"..You left my candy in your dungeon?"

"Walker, mate, you make it sound so ominous," Glenmoor pitched in, muffled by a mouthful of mystery meat. "Like we're trying to lure you in there or something."

"Can you honestly swear on your soul, on pain of death, that you aren't trying to trick me into staying in the dorms with a food-slash-candy coma?"

"He makes us sound so devious," Glenmoor said to Malinda instead.

"We are," she pointed out. Then she turned back to Allen. "We're holding your candy hostage."

"No you're not," Allen said, smiling. "Not if you want me to pay you back for the rest of it, plus interest."

"Oi, you three," Tapia called out again. God _damn_ how far could she hear? "What did you smuggle into the castle this time? I need to know so I can bail you out if Snape asks."

"Nothing!" Malinda says back, grinning. "Just Honeyduke's."

"Sweets?" Tapia makes some kind of sound that.. sounds contemplative. "What kinds?"

"Honeyduke's."

"..How much?"

Malinda says again, with all seriousness, but less smiling, " _Honeyduke's_."

Allen watched their exchange in silent for a moment, then caught Glenmoor avoiding eye-contact. He felt a momentary flicker of fear.

"...Malinda?" he began, tentatively. "Did you buy out the entire store?"

"If Slàine and I had that kind of money we'd be in _de Flitt's Private Academie du Magic_ , or whatever linguistic monstrosity she's renamed herself to." She paused. "..Or we'd have bought Hogsmeade itself. Edelmira, are we allowed to buy villages?"

"Mister Filch's list of prohibited items does not include deeds relating to the purchase or ownership of properties, Wizarding or otherwise," the other girl replied. As she spoke, she held a goblet of pumpkin juice and swilled it the way Neah did his wine.

Which was to say, like a goblet of juice.

"..Unfortunately, there are items banned on the basis of being too valuable to have on school grounds. I'd say it's a safe bet that having enough to buy Hogsmeade would get you detention. And we'll take your money." Tapia downed the rest of the goblet's contents and then gestured for someone to get her a refill. It was quite impressive, actually. "Why would you want to buy Hogsmeade? There's no profit to be made there. Cannich, that's where you want to look."

" _Canaich_ ," Glenmoor corrected in a mutter.

"Canaich, thank you. Beautiful place. Brimming with energy, apparently. My aunt Gisela spent two weeks there last summer, went from being unable to tell apart Mandrakes from mangoes to brewing potions like you wouldn't _believe_. She swears it changed her. Uncle Lino's been trying to get a permit to study the place since then. Imagine being able to learn magic in a place like that."

"That sounds neat," Malinda mused. "Though you'd think something like that would've been found and documented by some witch or wizard already."

"That's _why_ , Seymound." Tapia drank again. Allen had never seen their Head Girl so talkative before. Was it the pumpkin juice? Was that _even_ pumpkin juice? "Pioneering research into places like that is where you'll get the most gold for your Galleon."

"Actually," said the girl next to Amsel again, just as quiet and even as before, "due to the falling rate of conversion to and from Muggle currency in recent years, some are starting to speculate that Galleons are being made with Fool's Gold—"

The upper end of the table erupted.

"..What are they talking about?" he asked Malinda, scooting closer to her and further away from... _that_. He never thought people would actually argue about how money was made. Nor that it could get that heated and terrifying. "Why are they like that."

"Seventh Years," she replied blithely while trying to push aside the peas in her ghoulish goulash. "I can't wait 'til it's my turn."

Allen tried to indicate Amsel and the girl next to him without outright pointing at them. "Those two aren't Seventh Years, are they?"

"Zeze's dad works with goblins. She must have picked it up from there. Amsel... hangs out with her a lot, is my best guess."

They were discussing (arguing) things he hadn't considered before, and probably never would. If this was what Seventh Years learned, he wasn't sure he wanted to make it there. They looked just short of flinging food at each other!

Glenmoor also seemed to be uninterested in whatever mess was going on over there. "Do you learn about this sort of stuff in your school, Walker?"

"Learn what?" Allen said, helping himself to more goulash and pumpkin cookies while their upperclassmen were busy. "How to talk really loudly?"

"That's just a part of general incantation practice. I mean about... whatever they're talking about over there."

"You mean... Wizarding finances and stuff?" He chewed on a chunk of pumpkin thoughtfully. "..Not really, no. All of our classes tend to focus on.. magical theory and applications. Oh, and magic control, of course."

Glenmoor's nose scrunched up. "What, like.. basic control? Little kid stuff?"

"There's adults out there who can't properly control their magic," Allen pointed out. "That makes it more than just _little kid stuff_."

"..Isn't that just an idiot with no talent?"

Malinda smacked him on the shoulder. " _Slàine_!"

"What?" Glenmoor shot back, then grimaced and grabbed a napkin to wipe his arm. "Ew, you got potatoes all over me!"

Allen watched them with a small smile.

/ / / / /

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Eventually, the Seventh years (and co.) came to some agreement and settled down. The castle ghosts surprised them by slinking up from the tables and out of the walls to do a little dance. Or as they called it, _formation gliding_.

Allen talked about how usually he and the other students at _Rosa Croce_ would be visiting graves around this time, as they didn't celebrate Hallowe'en in quite the same way. That was probably what they were doing, or would be doing soon.

It was a slight change in his holiday routine, but he didn't mind too much. This was about how much he generally ate during the autumn months back in Vatican City, just on a more daily basis. Once winter started, the vines that made up his left arm would go into a period of dormancy due to the cold weather and his appetite would... well. Go to back to normal, so to speak.

Lavi made fun of it a lot, but even he had to admit it was a good indicator of when the temperatures would start dropping more sharply. Time for the instructors to go about touching up the charms set up around the institute to keep it cozy. He noticed that was only something found in in places like the Common Rooms and the Great Hall here at Hogwarts, probably because the castle itself was just... too big.

Wearing multiple layers really took a lot of getting used to.

"I hate leaving the Great Hall," Malinda muttered. "You can tell the Head Students and Prefects try to keep us in line but there's always _those few_ who just— ow! Stop pushing!"

"Sorry," muttered the person behind her. It sounded suspiciously like one of Malfoy's lackeys. Probably Crabbe.

Because a moment later, they also heard Malfoy hissing, _"Can't you watch where you're going, Crabbe?"_

"Boys," she muttered. Glenmoor coughed but otherwise remained wisely silent.

"It looks a lot more crowded today," Allen noted.

"Probably because everyone's especially stuffed full and _slower than slugs_!"

Someone made a sound like a dying cow.

"What was that supposed to be?" was asked quietly from that same direction.

"..The sound of a slug."

"That was awful."

"You give it a go, then!"

"Uuugghhh," Malinda groaned under the onslaught of squelchy sounding growls and someone who seemed to have howled for no reason at all. Allen tried not to laugh.

"Hey!" She grabbed his arm as he was trying to squeeze his way out to the side of the crowd. "Where do you think you're going?"

Allen blinked and pointed to the rapidly approaching split in the hallway. "...To my room?"

"We still have your candy!"

"Yeah, okay. And? What's the rush?''

"Yyyooouu still have my money."

"Ah, but see, that money isn't _with me_." Allen flashed a smile. "And I need to return to my room anyway if I want to get it, so why don't I just pay you and pick up the sweets.. say, tomorrow?"

Malinda pretended to think for a moment. "..I'm gonna have to add daily interest to it."

"You're trying to wring me dry is what you're trying to do."

"The rich feed the poor! With all that money you gave us for _candy_ , any Pure-blood would be considered poor."

"Oh." Allen made a mental note to himself to stop asking his uncle for so much money.

Where did Neah even get it all? He wasn't exactly employed, in any normal sense. He did know that Neah and Cross had done some writing or other a while back, but _books_ couldn't possibly pay that much, could it? They weren't even all that popular.

"I don't feed anyone," Glenmoor said with a sniff.

"Well you're not exactly rich, either."

Glenmoor's mouth opened and closed several times, but in the end, he settled for staying silent and sulking off to the side.

"Not all Pure-bloods are rich," Malinda whispered. "But enough of them are that everyone likes to pretend they are, too."

"...Then what about you?"

"Me? I'm Half-blood. I wasn't raised like that. Well, granddad tried, but no one listened to him, seeing as he married a Half-blood himself. Not sure if he knew she was, at the time. He's always got ways to avoid the topics every time we make a point of asking him..."

"Why is it such a big deal?" Allen asked. He'd been meaning to ask it a while now. "I know Pure-bloods are rare, but I've never seen anyone make that big a fuss about what sort of parents you had."

Malinda looked at him like he'd sprouted another head. Or maybe that was Neah behind him. He turned around to check.

Nope. Not Neah.

"It's... Well. It's not a _thing_ , really, more like..." Malinda made a vague handmotion and shrugged like she wasn't sure what to say. "Slytherins tend to be more uppity about it than others. But you'll find people like that anywhere, too... It's sort of a status thing? Pure-blood means old blood, and old blood is generally, well. Better off. So they think they're better than others. Old blood means old names, old inheritance, old property. Houses and assets passed down the family over time until it builds up. Isn't your uncle the same? That's where all your money's from, isn't it?"

"I honestly have no idea."

"..You've never wondered?"

"Nah," he said, shrugging. "It was never a big deal."

" _How is that not a—_ " Malinda dragged her hands down her face. "Allen _bloody_ Walker, you.. ugh."

"Haha. I can't say much about him, 'cuz that'd be rude of me, and also I really don't know about his past," Allen said when she didn't continue. "But my dad never talked about stuff like that. Cross... didn't, either. And the rest of us at the school were.. more or less orphans, or adopted— or both, like me. The professors never really talked about things like.. blood-status, so.."

"...So does that mean you don't have a—"

Something like a silver cloud of smoke flashed between them, darting down the halls— or flying, rather. It was shaped a bit like a large bird.

"That's.. where your room is, isn't it, Allen?" Malinda pointed out. Glenmoor was drifting over, trying to see what they were looking at. "I mean. Your quarters. Dorm?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Well, there's a lot of things down that hall, but... my quarters are definitely one of those things."

"Was that a Patronus?" Glenmoor asked.

"A what?"

"Oh my _God_ ," Malinda groaned. "What are they _teaching_ you down there?"

"Practical magic," Allen said dully. None of this.. Runes and Astronomy stuff. "What's a Patronus?"

"Charm. For warding off..." Glenmoor's voice dropped. "..Dementors."

They shared a look with each other.

"...You don't think...?"

"No!" Malinda shoved them out of the crowd finally, because it was starting to go backwards for some reason. She looked around to make sure they hadn't been heard. "Impossible. Dementors aren't even allowed _on school grounds_. There's no _way_ they could make it _into the castle_."

"How d'you explain that Patronus, then?" Glenmoor pointed down the hallway where the silvery light had gone. "And what's it doing down here?"

"Can it be used against people?" Allen asked. His hands suddenly felt cold, even the one that was made of roots and vines. "To attack people?"

"It... that..." Malinda's lips thinned. "I don't know that anyone's ever tried... Allen?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he turned and sprinted after the lingering trail that glittered like the stars in the night sky, barely visible under the torchlight.

It felt like that night again, that cold, snowy night. The moment of ringing silence that followed the crash of the carriage, when it seemed the world had forgotten to breathe. When he had floundered through the snow that reached his small knees.

It wasn't the sounds of shouting or fighting that had him worried. It was the silence. It was the fear that everything was already over, that he was too late and there was nothing he could do.

The blood pounding in his ears was better than seeing it on the ground. The burning of his lungs was better than a motionless body lying in front of him. His hand gripped his wand too tightly, but it was better than seeing Mana's hand lying in the snow under the debris, far too limp and far too pale.

Just ahead, the door at the end of the hall swung open. He held his wand up reflexively, like they were all taught to in Defensive courses.

It flew out of his hand before he could even blink.

Behind him, he could hear Malinda and Glenmoor's muffled surprise, and he could hear the sound of his wand bounce of the wall with a whirl. It fell to the ground with a soft clatter that almost echoed in his ears. Nothing followed the Disarming Charm, because they had already made eye-contact.

"... _Ma_ —" The name died a cold, hoarse death in his throat.

It felt horribly familiar, staring at the tip of Neah's wand. And the look on Neah's face, slightly grimaced, slightly twisted, was familiar too.

Someone screamed. His left arm burned, and his vision went black.

 _"Wake up... Neah, wake up."_

 _"M'not.." He muttered, rubbing his eyes. "..M'not Neah."_

 _He blinked, blearily. Mana looked almost disappointed, but it was replaced with a wide smile._

 _"Oh. Well, wake up, Allen! You sleepyhead, you'll catch a cold if you nod off out here. Neah used to do that all the time.. I'd have to wake him up every time then, too."_

 _Allen sat up. The soil was cool and dry between his fingers, mixed with straw and bristly grass and weeds. He looked around._

 _The wheat field stretched for what seemed like miles, hills of green-gold, tinged amber with the setting sun. Like a field of fire._

 _Mana picked him up easily, even though he was almost 5 now. He was just small for his age, Mana would say. Nothing more._

 _Maybe Mana was just big._

 _"Who's Neah?" Allen asked, like he did every time Mana called him that. It sounded like the name of a friend. Someone very close._

 _"Someone very dear to me," Mana said. It was the same answer he gave every time Allen asked. "I miss him very much. And you remind me of him so much, Allen."_

 _"Hope you find 'im soon," Allen said, sleep-slurred. Just like always._

 _This time, Mana said, quietly, "He died a long time ago."_

 _Oh._

 _"Oh."_

 _Allen couldn't think of anything else to say, so he hugged Mana's shoulder and tried not to fall asleep right away. He looked behind them as Mana went back to the manor, watching the withered tree he'd been sleeping against grow smaller and smaller._

 _The breeze blew past, bringing with it a fresh breath of air and sending ripples through the field. Shimmering waves of gold._

 _"Don't fall sle̦͈̙͎ëp yet, Al͎͋ͅlĕ͓̺͓̳n," he heard Mana say, but the words were growing faint and muffled. Like there was cotton stuffed into his ears. "Yo͛u'r̎e͕̟ͨ̆͌ ẗoö́ͬ̂ͦ b̗͍͂̕ig͑ a͔nḑ̬̮̒ͯ̚ heå̩̘͑ͮv́ͮ̀y̍ f̶̺or̴̆̓̊̚ t̼h̊̄̄̚isͨ oͬld͂ͮ m̼aͨn̰̞̹ tͩ͋o͘ p̣͇ͦut ť͏͈oͭ͊̍̓ b̭̆͊ed͒͑̂ͮ̆ nowͯͧͣ.̸̱͂͊̐"_

 _"M'not..."_

 _His own voice sounded distant, too. like it was echoing. They were in the foyer now, dark and clouded and musty. Everything seemed to echo here, even Mana's footsteps._

 _A giggle came from the side, and that echoed too. There were some kids in the living room. A boy his age, scraggly and rough; another, older, cleaner, but in a way that seemed like he wasn't very comfortable with it; and a girl. A girl.. he couldn't remember._

 _The candy in her hands looked faded and old, and smelled of dust._

"...len... Allen!"

It was still dark when he finally became aware of it again.

"..D'you think he can hear us?" That sounded like Malinda, though he'd never heard her that worried before. "Allen? Allen, are you... can you hear us?"

"Say something, Walker. Or, I dunno, wiggle a toe. Or your head. A finger!"

Allen tried to wiggle his fingers. He couldn't feel anything moving and there was no response that they'd seen it.

He tried again with his left hand. It felt extremely weird this time, but the darkness got... not so dark.

"-Oh!"

Then he realized that the darkness was actually his arm's Gummy Ficus tendrils layered in front of him to the point of blocking out the light, and that it was slowly drawing back.

Which also meant—

"Merlin, Walker," Glenmoor said wheezily. Allen was still blinking away at the sudden change in lighting. "You never said your arm was a tree."

"Technically," Malinda said weakly, "Gummy Ficuses aren't trees."

"Ma- Neah," Allen managed to say before they got into another argument. "My uncle. I saw... What happened?"

"Um.. well, you ran down here all of a sudden. You were white as a ghost, Allen. By the time we got here, I.. I guess your uncle accidentally disarmed you." She fidgeted with her hands and then motioned towards the inside of the room.

"Hey," Neah said quietly. He was still standing where Allen remembered seeing him before everything went... black.

Or, well, before his arm decided to suddenly explode.

"Hey," he said back. "Um.. what happened?"

" _Well_ ," Neah began, shifting a small jar with a flame in it into the crook of his other arm, as though to hide it from view. "I overreacted and disarmed you on instinct, like the Missus said. Then... I suppose either you or your arm thought I was a threat, so it..."

Neah mimed a firework going off with his hand.

"It was almost wrapped all around you, Walker," Glenmoor added. He looked calm, but from the way he kept looking around and glancing at Allen's arm, it was likely just a front. "Blocked the hall and everything. Mister Campbell said not to touch anything and to just let you.. or it. Let it calm down on its own."

Allen wiggled the fingers of his left hand again. It never felt like it did with his right hand, but he still had the sensation of something moving and twitching. Right now, the tendrils hadn't quite reorganized themselves into a solid arm shape yet. That would require manually shaping them.

He would just have to deal with a mass of twisted plant matter until then.

Neah's shoes entered his vision, so he peered up at his uncle.

"Didn't want to set your arm off, so I stayed back a bit," Neah said. Allen nodded shortly. He wondered if Neah had heard him almost call him _Mana_. "What are you three doing here?"

"There was a.. light thing," Allen said. "A Patronus? It went down the hall this way, so we followed it. I thought.. I thought something had gone after you."

Neah's had a weird sort of smile that didn't quite sit right on his face. It was fond, something Allen had seen often enough, but also... kind of. Well.

Hm.

"Dumbledore used it to send a message," his uncle said, gesturing behind him. "It's gone now."

"I didn't know you could use a Patronus to send messages.." Malinda muttered.

" _Speaking_ of messages— I don't mean to alarm all of you, but Dumbledore sent warning that Sirius Black managed to get into Hogwarts. No screaming," Neah said pointedly, holding a finger up at both Malinda and Glenmoor the moment their mouths opened. They took a few deep breaths, and he continued once it seemed like they'd calmed down a little. "We'll be heading to the Great Hall. Once we're there, you will report to your House Heads, and you will _stay there_. Allen, you know what to do?"

"Yeah," Allen said breathlessly. His mind was still churning from... whatever it was he had seen earlier. Did he black out? He wasn't sure. "...Yeah. I'll be quick."

"He's not coming with us?" Glenmoor cut in.

"He will," Neah assured. "But he has a few things to gather up. I can't let either of you head on out alone, so you'll have to bear with waiting a few minutes."

Malinda nodded and grabbed Glenmoor's arm, even though it didn't look like he was going to dart off anyway. "It's fine. We'll wait."

Glenmoor pulled them both further into the room and gave Allen a meaningful look, tipping his head in Malinda's direction as discreetly as he could. It seemed she was more than a little shaken by what had happened. Or what was happening.

"I'll be quick," Allen told his uncle again.

Neah beckoned at the two of them. "You two, come in more. I'll keep the door secure until Allen's done."

"Um, is there a way to send a message back?" Malinda asked. Allen saw her hovering around the couch when he reached the foot of the stairs. "Our Head Girl and Boy might worry."

"If any of you know how to send a Patronus with a message, feel free. I can't cast one."

"Oh." She didn't question it further.

"..I can Charm a letter, perhaps. Ah, but writing is..."

Allen went to his room and dug out a small satchel that had been prepared ahead of time. Inside was an enchanted silver pin, taken from his _Rosa Croce_ uniform and strung on a necklace, and a set of red juggling balls.

He shoved the satchel into his book bag and brought them both with him downstairs. The necklace he put on right away, tucking it out of sight under his vest.

"..You're gonna do _homework_?" Glenmoor asked in mild disbelief. He and Malinda were sitting on the edge of the couch. "This is _Sirius Black_ we're talking about here. Surely the professors will excuse us for one day at least."

"Well if they do, then that's great." Allen shrugged. "If they don't, I'll have it done."

Glenmoor didn't say anything for a while. Then he muttered under his breath. "Wonder if there's time to grab my bag..."

"No can do, _bambini_." Neah was at the dining table, but instead of sitting down he had one arm leaning against the back of a chair, holding his wand, and the other one carrying the jar with the still flickering flame. "It's off to the Great Hall with you three. No time for detours. I can't possibly keep all three of you safe on my own if you scurry about."

Malinda let out a smaller whimper. "Is it that bad?"

"There's a mass murderer running loose around the castle! One that isn't—"

" _Uncle._ "

"..." Neah cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "There's a mass murderer in the castle, Miss Seymound. I believe that alone is enough to convey how bad it is."

She gave a small nod, but didn't say anything else. Neah brought up the jar he'd been holding, flame still lit.

"We're heading off, Marian. Allen's safe, as you've heard."

There was a grunt that Allen definitely recognized as Cross.

 _"You alright, kid?"_

"Um... yeah," Allen replied. He still felt... off. "More or less."

 _"Okay. Call me back you can. You too, Campbell."_

"Will try," Neah said before Allen could even process the thought of Cross actively wanting to talk to him. " _Ciao_!"

 _"What do you mean **try** —"_

Neah snuffed out the flame with his wand and tucked the bottle away inside his robes. He took out the Foe-glass monocle and settled it over his left eye, attaching the chain to a clasp on his ear.

"Ready, you three?"

Allen shared a look with his classmates, who were decidedly confused by what had just happened, but they didn't protest.

"Yeah," he said.

Neah's smile was grim and tight. With a flick of his wand, the warding spells that had been set up were dispelled, and the door opened.

They followed him out.

"I have Mister Glenmoor and Miss Seymound here," Neah said as they approached the doors to the Great Hall. Pomona was on guard a ways away from the entrance. "And my nephew. They're all fine."

She squinted at him briefly, then at the kids.

"Glad to see you all safe and sound. Go on in, then. We've placed a number of protective Charms and wards ahead, so it might feel a little fuzzy," Pomona said. She looking at Neah meaningfully. "Albus asked to see you once you got here."

"He's inside?" Neah asked. He ushered the kids to the door.

"Not anymore," she replied, shaking her head. "He's gone back to his office after sending the rest of the staff out to sear—"

Seymound and Allen both let out a yelp.

Neah lifted his wand immediately out of reflex, but lowered it when he found out why they were so surprised.

"Your hair!" Seymound squeaked, pointing at Glenmoor, whose hair had gone from black to sandy blond. She turned around and then did the same to Allen. "And yours!"

"What- Oh my God, Walker, you're—"

"Oh no," Allen groaned, grabbing handfuls of his hair. It was no longer eggshell white. " _Uncllleee_.."

Neah looked between Pomona and his nephew. "Can I fix his hair?"

"There's another round of Charms at the door," she said. Her badly hidden smile was both apologetic and trying hard not to laugh. "And inside. I don't think Albus will make them stay longer than one night, but if they have to leave the Hall for any reason, I reckon any small amount of Transfiguration will be undone every time."

"Hmmm." Neah twirled his wand idly. "Did you hear that, Allen? You'll have to Transfigure it yourself for tonight."

"Last time I tried, I looked like a half-ripened tomato..."

Glenmoor had his arms crossed, but he still managed to give Allen a shoulder-bump. "I dunno about whatever egg custard color that was you had— ( _" **Yours** is egg custard."_ ) —but I can definitely do _old man white_ if you need help."

Glenmoor finished it off with a devilish grin. Which, given the sandy blond hair, made him look much more like Malfoy than either of them were comfortable with. Allen made an face not unlike that of a particularly affronted Hippogriff.

He turned to Neah again. "Uncle..."

Neah shrugged helplessly. His nephew let out a grumble.

"Don't forget, Neah," Pomona called out softly after them as they entered the hall. "Albus!"

Neah gave her a salute without turning back.

She was right about the fuzzy feeling. He felt the Illusion Charm on his left eye fizzle away, but luckily most of the scarring was hidden by the monocle. Allen was the only one who noticed and peeked over curiously.

He looked away when Neah gave him a little smile.

"Allen, Slàine and I have something to take care of first," Malinda said. Neah noticed that Severus and Minerva were still here, looking in their direction and seemingly waiting for them to come over. "We'll find you in the Slytherin section after?"

"I'd rather not end up wandering into a sleeping bag next to some other House," Allen muttered. "Or next to Malfoy."

They all looked the same. Squashy and purple. And there didn't seem to be any immediate distinction on which House had which area.

Malinda looked at Glenmoor, who shrugged. "S'fine."

"I'm going to see what the Headmaster wants, then," Neah said to his nephew. "Did you want to try calling Marian tonight?"

"Is Cross even capable of keeping his voice down? Because I'm going to be surrounded by people and I don't want questions."

Neah thought about it. "...I think—"

"Actually please don't answer that!" Allen added hastily, holding his hands up and looking... more frightened of the answer than of the fact that a mass murderer was in the castle. "I already know for a fact that he can't. I'll just— I'll talk to him later this week. Tomorrow?"

"I'm sure he'd love that, Allen." Neah laughed at the face Allen made. He also made a note to yell at Marian for not having more discretion about _keeping his voice down_ where Allen could hear. " _Ciao_. I'll be back soon, hopefully."

"Mrmpgh... _ciao_."

Neah had another look around the hall, stopping at places where he could make out the thin, warped veil of magic indicating a layer of protective Charms. There were students standing watch, some of whom he recognized as Prefects, and others being the Head Boys and Girls.

If not for the few teachers near the hall entrances and the ghosts hovering about, he'd think this room to be poorly guarded.

"Campbell."

Neah turned in the direction of that curt address. "...Severus."

The Potions professor did not look all too pleased to see him. His upper lip twitched, but did not curl as Neah had seen it do often enough. "Well, what are you waiting for? The Headmaster wished to see you."

"So I was told." Neah glanced briefly at Allen and the other two as they walked by and joined the rest of the students, digging around for the last few sleeping bags. Glenmoor looked less uncomfortable now, and his hair was black again. "Did you stay behind to escort me there?"

"Of course not." Severus _did_ sneer then. "As Head of Slytherin, it is my duty to make sure all my students are accounted for. Thanks to your _nephew_ , however..."

"Yes, let's all blame the boy for being worried about my well-being!" Neah clapped the man on the shoulder cheerily, making him stumble a step in surprise. He headed for the nearest door. "Come come, Severus. Best not to keep the Headmaster waiting."

In hindsight, it was probably not a good idea to use casual antics as a method of deflection with someone like Severus Snape.

Then again, in hindsight, Neah was... Not very good at hindsight.

"Can you show it to us later?"

"Okay, _fine_ , later!" Allen hissed. He looked around to see if anyone was trying to eavesdrop, or if one of the Prefects was going to come swooping down on them again for talking. They'd already made a commotion when some of the students kept remarking on his hair when they should've been sleeping. "After I get it fixed up."

"What do you mean fixed up?" Glenmoor was practically bouncing in place, despite that fact that he was lying down and half-asleep.

Allen pulled his sleeve back just enough to show the fan of roots he'd been hiding until then. "Does this look anything like a hand to you?"

"No." Glenmoor wasn't wearing his glasses and thus probably couldn't even see Allen's face clearly, let alone his hand. "Is it supposed to?"

"Well, yes. You've noticed I don't walk around with a tree hanging out of my shoulder."

"Usually."

"Not a tree," Malinda muttered from Glenmoor's other side. She sounded sleepy. "Para... paras'tic shrub... creep'r vines."

"It's attached to my arm, Malinda. I think I'd know what it was."

She let out a grumbly whine at being contradicted, and promptly fell asleep.

"I actually have no idea what it is," he confided once he was sure Malinda was asleep. "It's, like.. part tree, part shrub, part creature-eating-hell-vines."

Glenmoor looked only mildly alarmed.

"I eat a lot to satisfy its whims," Allen said. "And to keep it from turning me or anyone else into a prune."

"You're doing the world a great service, Walker."

Allen pulled the sleeve over his hand and buried his arm back inside the sleeping bag, out of sight. It turned out they weren't given any time before lights out, so his book bag was sitting between him and Glenmoor for safekeeping. And with everyone being asleep, that satchel he'd brought along might be unnecessary after all.

He still felt better with the rose cross pendant around his neck, though. It was one of the few things he didn't mind bringing with him from _Rosa Croce_. It made him feel a bit safer.

"Hey, Walker," Glenmoor whispered, just as Allen was getting himself settled down to finally sleep. "D'you have a grandfather?"

"Hm?" he replied sleepily.

"There was a guy at Hogsmeade. Kinda big, bit bulky... had a _huge_ hat. Said he was looking for you." Glenmoor was watching him. He was very observant, Allen had learned. "Said he was your grandfather."

Allen felt his mouth dry up.

"..Did he look kind of like my uncle?"

"Um. Not really. He had... short hair I think. Stubbly." Glenmoor made a square-shape with his hand around his chin. "Really.. looked like some kind of strongman. Y'know. Big."

An image came to mind. It was a memory of the manor he lived in with Mana, of one of the grander rooms that no one was allowed into for any length of time alone, especially not him or the other kids. A room full of paintings and pictures, like a family tree, but not quite.

One of the family portraits had a man like that. A big man, with a beard and a mustache.

But that man was—

"No idea," he said. "Besides, didn't you guys say the Campbells were dead?"

"Your uncle is pretty _not dead_ , mate." Glenmoor shuffled a little closer, lowering his voice even more. "Maybe they went into hiding and faked their own deaths. That's why your uncle's still alive. And that explains your dad being around to, y'know, adopt you. Maybe he really was your granddad. He even had a photo of you as a kid, red hair and all."

"That's creepy, seeing as I've never met a grandfather... ever."

"...Well when you say it like that, yeah." Glenmoor scooted back to his original place. He was quiet for another moment. "Maybe your uncle knows."

"Yeah," Allen said softly. He yawned as realistically as he could and tried to force himself to doze off. "Maybe."

The wide, shallow-bottomed basin hovered an inch above the Headmaster's desk. In it was some shimmering sort of non-liquid, clouded by a swirl of silver.

The silver, fog-like substance had risen out of the bowl and formed itself into a very familiar face. After a moment, it zoomed out to include the shoulders, the torso, and an abnormally tall top hat.

"Well?" Albus said, watching Neah as he circled around the desk to look at it from a different angle. "Do you recognize him?"

"Where did this come from?" Neah asked, gesturing to the figure rising from the bowl. "Is this a memory?"

"It is. Miss Tapia, Head Girl of Slytherin, came to Severus after the students returned from Hogsmeade. He, in turn, brought her to me. She and several others reported the presence of a man looking for one of their classmates." The headmaster looked at Neah over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Your nephew, in fact."

Neah removed the monocle and its clasp, squinting at the figure with both eyes. Then he looked over his shoulder where Severus was still standing, watching them both.

When he looked back, Albus was regarding him expectantly.

" _Iscriva_."

The tip of Neah's wand lit up. He used it to draw a pentacle in the air, leaving a lingering trail of pale violet light. Once finished, the parts that were starting to fade lit up again like a brand.

"His name is Adam Walker," Neah said. He pressed the tip of his own wand to his temple and drew out a thin, barely visible sliver of silver. "He... _was_... the main representative of the NOAHs Faction within the Vatican Ministry."

He tapped his wand to the center of the pentacle and murmured the spell under his breath, a slur of words that were less important than the non-verbal intent required to cast it. The silver mass of memories spread throughout the pentacle until it grew into the shape of a painting, just half the size of the original.

In that painting was the same man floating above Albus's Pensieve, and two children on either side of him, hands on their shoulders.

"After Mana and I lost our parents, he took us in," he said, with less fondness than one might expect.

Sometimes they called him father. Sometimes, Adam.

" _Was_ , you say?"

"He's supposed to have died more than 30 years ago." Neah flicked his wand. The memory dispersed into smoke and eventually disappeared. He looked at the memory projection from the Pensieve again. "Whoever that man is, he's a filthy impostor. I'd rather he never come anywhere near my nephew, Headmaster."

"It is possible to place a ban on his trips to Hogsmeade, assuming that this impostor is of the persistent sort," Albus said, waving a hand over the projection. It sank down into the basin, and another wave caused it to levitate back into the cabinet it came from. "However, Cross Marian is Mister Walker's official guardian. Might I suggest the two of you have a chat, first?"

Oh. "Right. Of course."

"I hope that Mister Walker does not take this news too badly." The Headmaster sighed. "Now, Severus, I'd like you to join those searching the East Wing. Neah, if you would—"

"Happy to help, Albus."

"Good, good. I've heard you're quite capable of covering a large area on your own. In the event that Black has managed to escape from the castle, there would be only the Hogwarts grounds left to hide away in..."

The cat was truly a clever thing.

After he saw the last of the wand-lights go out from inside the castle windows, Sirius got up. He couldn't stay under the Whomping Willow forever.

But the cat sat itself down at the mouth of the hollow, refusing to budge.

Sirius tried to usher it off with a _shoo_ , nudging at it with his foot. It only turned its squashy face to look at him like he was an idiot.

Well. Compared to a cat that could tell Animagi apart from normal animals, maybe he was a bit of an idiot.

Judging by the way its tail stood straight up like it had when he first met it, it was on the alert against something. Despite being able to turn into a hound, Sirius didn't have quite the same level of animal instincts.

But the cat was clever, so he trusted its judgment and settled down in the hollow again, waiting for whatever dangers to pass.

Not long after, the cat turned and went deeper down into the hollow. Sirius followed it until he could barely see the top of the castle through the opening.

A shadow passed by above, startling him. A Dementor? It couldn't be. They weren't allowed on Hogwarts grounds— that was the only reason why Sirius had been confident enough to sneak in and remain here as long as he had.

He feared the worst, but this shadow didn't hover above the ground, it _flew_. It circled above the tree like a cloud made of dust, black in color and strangely distinct. It didn't look like a Dementor. He'd never seen anything like it before.

Except... _possibly_..

"A Death Eater?" Sirius muttered once the shadow had gone. At his feet, the cat let out a _mreow_. He'd gotten too used to talking to himself. "Can't be. With Dumbledore in the castle, no Death Eater's _stupid_ enough to—"

The cat hissed angrily before he could finish. Sirius didn't wonder why. He barely had time to stumble backwards and avoid toppling over when the dark cloud seemed to turn around and come right towards where he was hiding.

The Whomping Willow swung its branches— Sirius had no time to wonder if that would be of any use, because the cloud seemed to continue on unhindered, like water going through a sieve.

He imagined that, from the outside, it would've looked as though the cloud was being sucked into the tree's hollow.

It washed over him, feeling cold and oily, and like someone had set off a lightning bolt nearby. But after it passed, he felt no change in himself, indicating that it wasn't something Conjured, like a Patronus.

He whirled around, wand raised, expecting to meet someone in a black cloak and wearing one of those frighteningly gaudy masks.

What he saw instead was a cloud of ink in the shape of a man. A pair of eyes, shining bright white. In a moment he found himself shoved against the wall of the tunnel, a hand fisting the front of his robes, and the tip of a wand an inch from his nose.

He hadn't even seen it _move_.

When he blinked, the inky cloud vanished, and all that was left was a man with bedraggled hair and a black-glass monocle on his face. It was a testament to both of their abilities that Sirius still managed to get his wand hand between them in that brief amount of time, and that the man managed to stop his lunge before Sirius's wand gouged into his throat.

" _House Black_ ," the man hissed. It sounded like he had a rather personal sort of animosity with Sirius's family. Though it was probably fitting for someone who'd been wronged by You-Know-Who. Like himself. "Find what you were looking for?"

Sirius would've asked how he knew that, but at this point there wasn't anyone in the Wizarding world that _didn't_ know about him. Or what they _thought_ they knew about him.

"Sorry, have we met?" Sirius countered, just as hushed. Who knew how many others were wandering above ground looking for him right now. His only hope now was to look for an opening to blast this man away and escape into the forest.

The man tapped his wand against his monocle. The surface of the glass lit up with the outline of a crest that Sirius swore he'd seen before.

"House Campbell," he said in hoarse recognition.

It was a small and undistinguished house, not exactly known for any accomplishments or feats of magic. They called themselves Pure-bloods, and that had been enough to earn them a place on the Black Family Tree, however distant and unnoticed.

They were, however, among the first families to swear allegiance to the most notorious Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever known.

And they were supposed to be dead.

Yet here he was, the only son of Caterina Campbell, standing before Sirius with a murderous light in his eyes that screamed of anything but _dead_.

 _What fool_ , Sirius had thought earlier. _What fool Death Eater would be stupid enough to show his face on Albus Dumbledore's front porch?_

A Campbell might.

"Well?" the man said, wand trained onto Sirius's face once again. "No answer?"

He looked down. Sirius felt the press of fur and unbridled hissing rage against foot.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Sirius balked.

"Really?" he said, in a tone of breathless exasperation. "You're going to crack a joke right now? Like this?"

The man grinned. "Life is short. I have a sense of humor that's wasted on the world."

Sirius rolled his eyes and jabbed his wand into the man's throat, sending out a jet of red light.

* * *

i decided i wasn't satisfied just making up side-events while harry goes on his little adventure, so [heath ledger voice] _why_ so **_SIRiuS_**

i promise there is a good explanation for how it happened. really.i don't know when i'll manage to get to explain it in a reasonable way, but there is one.

bambini: pl. of bambino, child / kid  
iscriva: from iscrivere, to inscribe. commonly used in italy for more archaic, nonverbal magics. or to teach wand movements.  
regarding the pentacle: i'm not sure if i'll be able to incorporate more of it in the future, but the pentacle in this case is part of the ritual tools for real world stregheria / the strega tradition, the others being the wand, cup, and blade.


	8. we are the ones who will never be broken

**notes:** forgot to upload this when i updated the ao3 version...

no particular warnings that i can think of. if anyone feels like something should be warned for ppleeaassee let me know.

i feel like the plot moved a bit fast but it's been almost a year since i updated so that's just a treat for you guys i guess.

anyway i'm being extremely lazy about capitalizing things that should Probably be capitalized and can't remember what needs or doesn't need to be. so. it's gonna flip flop a lot if spellcheck doesn't catch it for me. y'know. if that annoys you or anything.

* * *

 _ **8: we are the ones who will never be broken.**_

* * *

If Lupin had really wanted to let Black in, doing it on the night of a full moon was about as stupid as one could be. Given his... condition.

Severus understood this. But even knowing that Lupin would have been confined to his office this night and would still before the entirety of this week did little to ease his doubts. After all, an entry route didn't need to be attended to. With Black's level of ability it was only luck that no students had come across him already.

Though, if one were to speak of people still inside the castle that were able to help with a break-in...

Severus's lip curled at the thought. What he wouldn't give to catch Black's accomplice red-handed.

The shadow in the sky outside the window stopped dancing about, and then streaked away. Severus could only follow it with his eyes past a few windows ahead before it went out of sight.

Well. In the event that they weren't on the same side, he hoped Campbell and Black would find each other and fight to the death. Perhaps Lupin too. At least one of his problems would be gone, then. The castle didn't need more than one dangerous liability in it at the same time.

One only had so many eyes to keep watch of them. Especially when the three of them so _coincidentally_ showed up at Hogwarts right after Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban.

Filch found him some minutes later, tottering along with his oil lamp. Mrs. Noriss leapt down from Filch's shoulder and vanished down the hall.

"That the Campbell fellow out there?" he asked after delivering his search report.

Severus didn't bother with a response.

The inky dust-cloud had returned and was headed for the nearest doors leading into the castle. For a moment, Severus thought it was going to find a crack in the walls or windows and seep in like water.

"It's not natural, is it," Filch bemoaned. A Squib he was, but with all the years he'd spent in Hogwarts, it would be pathetic if he didn't pick up a few things here and there. "Dark creature, that is."

" _Natural_ would be that thing killing everyone in this school," Severus muttered mildly. "Neither are desirable outcomes. _Don't_ bother with it, Argus. We don't need another mess to clean up after."

The shadow entered the castle and was coalescing back into a solid form just down the hall. Filch had started towards it before Severus said otherwise.

"I mean only to check the doors, professor," Filch said. "No need to make it easier for Black to get in again."

"...Indeed." Severus held his wand loosely and moved it in a shooing motion. "Go on, then."

"That's a bit rude, isn't it, Severus?" said the creature in the dark.

Neah Campbell swept out of the unlight, hair mussed and wand nowhere in sight. He had on a scarf that he hadn't been wearing when he left to search the grounds.

A flat-faced cat came into view behind him. Severus recognized it vaguely.

"Well?" He didn't bother with commentary. "Any sign of Black?"

"Not anywhere in plain sight." Campbell's head did that annoying thing where it tilted to the side, like he was regarding someone in another light. "Rubeus helped, but two men can't cover every single hiding space on Hogwarts grounds."

A reasonable excuse. Infuriatingly so.

"And what of your..." Severus made a jerky waving motion with his wand hand.

The man's outline shimmered, as though threatening to slough his skin away, then snapped back into place.

"I sensed no disturbance in the area," Campbell said. "No unnatural gatherings of magic. I did not look in the forest, of course, although Rubeus did. The centaurs would not have been pleased to see me."

"I wonder why that would be."

Campbell's smile was all teeth.

"I'm going to go check on Allen. And perhaps return this cat to its owner. You wouldn't happen to know, wouldn't you?" The cat flicked its tail. Severus did not answer. "Anyhow, you wouldn't happen to know if Albus mentioned anything about _patrolling_ after we search the grounds, do you?"

"You can ask him that yourself, Campbell."

"Or you could find me at the Great Hall after you've run along to report to him..."

"Looking for Dumbledore, are you?" A small painting down the hall interrupted them, and in good time. Severus did not have pleasant words in mind. "He's gone down to the Great Hall, he has. You might catch him if you hurry."

Neither of them did. Severus did not do anything because he'd always had trouble making out Merfynna Dour's accent, something he only ever bothered with because he respected how diligently she stirred the undoubtedly deadly contents of her cauldron.

...And he respected how she always knew more about people stealing from his personal storeroom than he did, despite being nowhere near it.

Campbell, on the other hand, was waiting for Severus to make the first move. He was being watched the way owls watched field mice. Hungry and patient.

"..Did you hear me?" Merfynna Dour knocked on the inside of her painting canvas with the ladle, leaving a vibrant orange stain that dripped down far too slowly. "I said he's at the Great Hall, I did!"

" _Thank you_ , Lady Dour," Severus said before she could go on a rant. "Please attend to your cauldron, lest it sours."

"Sour my cauldron? _Sour_ my cauldron?" Merfynna let out a shriek of laughter. "I've been brewin' this here 94 years, I have. _Sour_ my potion... like he don't know who I _am_."

Indeed the potion had gone dull in the few moments she stopped stirring it. She skimmed the ladle over the top, added a pinch of black powder, what looked like a single dried frog egg, and it was once again an eye-gouging shade of orange.

Severus took mental notes. It was not a combination he had seen before, in all the time he'd spent conversing with her portrait.

He started down the hall after and without a word. Filch muttered something and wandered off, and Campbell turned out to be capable of easily keeping up with Severus's long strides down the corridors.

Once they entered the Great Hall, Campbell greeted the Headmaster superfluously and excused himself, flouting off to find out where his nephew was. Curiously, it did not take an endless amount of poking and prodding into random sleeping bags to find Allen Walker.

The cat, it turned out, was Granger's, if her cry of _Crookshanks!_ was anything to go by.

Dumbledore approached after watching the scene briefly with a smile.

"How was it, Severus?"

"We found nothing, professor. Argus searched the dungeons himself and saw no trace of Black."

"And the astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched... nothing."

"Well.. I didn't expect him to linger." Dumbledore looked thoughtful for the moment before his gaze flickered away. "What of the grounds?"

"Also nothing... Though I don't put much stock in Campbell's report. He claims to have left Hagrid to search the forest himself. Something about _frightening the centaurs_."

"I will have to remind Rubeus to give the herd a message to be on the lookout, if he has not already. There are many places in there for an escaped convict to hide."

Severus lip twitched. Black would know, seeing as he went to Hogwarts himself.

"Black could not have entered the castle on his own, sir," he said, lowering his voice. Percy Weasely was still nearby. Head Boy or not, it was not something Severus wanted students hearing. "I had.. expressed my concerns on this, if you recall. Before start-of-term."

"I recall," said Dumbledore, with the sort of warning that told him not to pursue the matter.

Severus pursued the matter.

Or rather, he tried to, but his words were batted aside with all the gentility of a wizened Kneazle before he could finish them.

"Given their past, it is not unlikely that—"

"I am not a fool, Severus. But I do not believe anyone in this castle would have helped Black enter it. Especially not any member of staff."

"And what of those _not_ on staff?"

"Mister Campbell has been an exemplary resident thus far." Dumbledore was speaking lightly, and more quietly as well. He seemed all too aware of where Campbell was currently standing. It soothed Severus's nerves to know Dumbledore did not trust Campbell as much as he might say. "He has no reason to help Black with anything."

" _He is a Campbell_." Severus said, trying not to hiss. " _Sir._ And Black is a _Black_. They have _every reason_ to help each other."

"I'm well aware of Pure-blood feuding, but the moment we start doubting each other is the moment that Black wins." The tone Dumbledore used was one of finality, just like when he decided that he was going to get Severus acquitted from Azkaban and working at Hogwarts instead. That he would brook no further argument on the matter. "Now, I must go down and report to the Dementors. I told them we would keep them appraised of our search."

Likely it was also because Percy Weasely had come within hearing distance.

"Didn't they want to help, sir?" asked Weasely.

"Oh yes, of course," said Dumbledore, coldly. "But I'm afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am alive."

 _And when you are not?_ Severus kept this question silent. Dumbledore was already sweeping out of the hall.

He turned around.

Campbell was looking at him. A still, darkened figure in the waning candle light. Eyes white as the moon. The smile was small, but it was there.

Severus followed Dumbledore out, lips twisted with distaste.

"Campbells and Blacks," Ron muttered accusingly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"What?" Harry whispered. He stole a glance at Hermione. Her confused shrug told him all he needed to know. "Think of what?"

Which was to say, nothing at all.

"They're Pure-bloods, Harry. They're all related, married into each other and everything. Blacks, Malfoys, Campbells... And us Weasleys too, come to think of it." Ron grimaced. "Awful."

"That sounds, er." Harry racked his mind trying to think of a way to word this. "Very ill-advised."

"Is it that hard to believe there might be a Malfoy or, or a Black out there with a decent heart?" Hermione said. "..Not that I've known any Blacks. Which helps, I suppose."

Harry thought about it. Ron immediately made a face.

"S'pose so," he muttered. "..Could also be that Weasley was a right nutter. Marrying a Black. I think it was a Black... Should ask dad about that— awful idea to ask Fred or George..."

"Wizarding families are so complicated, aren't they?" Hermione remarked.

"I dunno," Harry said. "Malfoy's awful. But if I had to choose between having him or Dudley as a cousin..."

His head hurt just thinking about it.

"Don't finish that thought, Harry," Ron said, hushed. "It's not worth it."

Hermione looked a little concerned, probably because he was trying to choose between _Malfoy_ and his own cousin, but clearly she had never met Dudley before. It was a very tough decision.

"..Did the Campbells side with—" Harry ducked his head down and scooted closer. Allen's uncle had finished hovering over the Slytherin group and passed by Harry on his way to the door. Crookshanks' head came up to watch him go, which Harry thought was a rather peculiar behavior. "—With Voldemort? If Black, er, the Blacks did, if they're close enough, that would mean they both, they were both Death Eaters. Wouldn't it?"

"If I could find out something like that, they'd be in Azkaban already." Hermione paused. "Although, I've not checked the papers dating back that far. The _Daily Prophet_ must have recorded something in that time. Oh, but does anyone even _keep_ papers from that long ago?"

"Library?" Harry suggested.

Hermione hummed in thought. Libraries were always reliable sources of information, provided they were run by librarians that were not Madam Pince.

"Even if they were, it won't be that bad, will it?" Ron said. "I mean, that Campbell fellow is the only one left. A man can't do much on his own."

"He's got a boyfriend," Harry said musingly, recalling what Neville had said about what happened in greenhouse. "Or a. A best friend. A really close best friend? Him and Allen's other, um, dad? Maybe it's just a fancy."

Harry did not talk about Ron like that, but they _were_ only. 14. Not... 40.

(40 was probably a safe guess. Harry was not very good at telling ages.)

"Harry, if you told us you were going over to You-Know-Who's side for, for _whatever_ reason," Ron said, "you _know_ we would stop you. Hell, I'll drag you back to mum myself, and we would, er. Put... bars on your windows...?"

Ron immediately looked he wanted to take that back.

"That only worked because I couldn't use magic," Harry rebutted. Sure, it'd been quite awful having his room all boarded up, but the Weasleys' flying car made it worthwhile. "I... _can_ use magic at the Burrow, right? I mean if I can be blamed for something a house-elf did, then it works the other way around, too, doesn't it?"

"Well... We're not _supposed_ to..." Ron said uncertainly.

"Would it- would it even matter? I've been accused of levitating and smashing a pudding, I've blown up my aunt, I haven't been expelled yet. They can't expel me for using magic to escape a locked bedroom, can they?"

Hermione squinted at him.

"Um, anyway, thanks, Ron," Harry said quickly. "For, you know. Helping me stay out of Voldemort's, er. Vile... evil... hands."

"He hasn't got hands, has he?" Ron said, albeit nervous. Harry appreciated the effort.

"He does, I saw them. In the Chamber of Secrets."

"He'll have _had_ hands once I'm through with him," Ron muttered, this time with less nervousness and more anger. "Wish I could've had a stab at that book of his, too."

"If anything else turns up cursed by You-Know-Who, you can have first go at it," Hermione said. "Right Harry?"

"What? Oh, yeah. We'll pack a basilisk fang with us and everything. No one else touches it." Harry grinned, then stopped. "Those aren't hard to get, are they?"

"Might be a bit." Ron had on a rueful smile. "...Thanks."

Harry grinned again. He'd already forgotten what it was they were trying to distract each other about, so it probably worked.

The whole school was talking about Sirius Black and how he attacked the Fat Lady. The stories sounded a little exaggerated, and they probably were, so Allen went to check on the Fat Lady's portrait himself.

The cuts were still there, having not been completely repaired yet, which Allen found a bit strange. Shouldn't it have been as easy as waving a wand and using.. what was it, _Reparo_? Were the paintings magic-resistant?

"Can I help you, dear boy?" The Fat Lady asked, sniffling into a handkerchief.

"Oh, I was just wondering about the..." He drew a line along one of the lash marks. "Curious why they haven't been fixed yet."

"Argus is working on that. He does a fine job, for what he is." She blew her nose loudly. "I daresay he's taking his time on purpose, he doesn't much like the paintings around Hogwarts."

"..Sorry, I'm not sure I— what he is?"

"You don't know? I thought everyone— well, I'm not one to _gossip_ ," said the Fat Lady, despite cheering up slightly and looking exactly like someone who was one to gossip. "He's a Squib. He's not got any magic, that Argus Filch."

"Oh," said Allen. "That sounds.. tiring."

At least he knew why Kanda didn't use magic, even if he had it. Actually did that even still count as a- a Squib? What a strange word.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has a soft spot for those sorts, I've seen. First it's Argus, then that Hagrid fellow, the Potions Master.. and then it'll be your uncle, won't it?"

"My uncle?"

"Not that I've anything against him, dear! It's only, well, it's not _done_ in proper society. You wouldn't see it anywhere else, at least, not while I was alive. I've been here so _dreadfully_ long, after all. Oh, but Hogwarts is such a _wonderful_ place, I don't mind it at all. Awfully lonely over the holidays."

"You were attacked by a madman," Allen reminded her helpfully.

"I thought I knew the boy," the Fat Lady sighed. She was starting to sniffle again, but not quite so much as before. "He was in my house, you know? A Gryffindor! Why, you should have seen the place when we heard— a Black, in Gryffindor! And then he'd joined You-Know-Who, and he killed his friends! Black, imprisoned; and now he's escaped! Oh!"

".. It must've been terrible, seeing him again like that."

"Such a sweet child," she all but bawled. "If only you weren't... Oh, what am I saying! Times have changed so much, it's dreadful."

Allen was startled for a moment, then confused. Maybe she didn't.. mean what he was thinking?

"If only I wasn't..?"

"Why, a Slytherin, boy. Not to be biased, but I think you would've made a _splendid_ Gryffindor."

"Isn't the, um, the hat, isn't it good at sorting? That's.. what it does. It's a Sorting Hat." A very talkative hat. For a hat. "Although I still don't quite get the point of the sorting."

"Oh that's right, Vatican City doesn't sort their students. They haven't changed much, have they?"

"Mm, I don't think they have."

"When I was a girl, we went there, once, on holiday," the Fat Lady reminisced with a sigh. "Beautiful, beautiful city. The architecture and the artwork, _wonderful_ Muggle work. You don't see anything like that among Wizards."

"Religion probably has something to do with that," Allen mused. _Rosa Croce_ wasn't quite as spectacular as St. Peter's Basilica, but one could still see the influence. Hogwarts was amazingly massive and grand, but not exactly... decorated. "I suppose Wizard-folk don't see the need to put, um.. Hogwarts' founders everywhere. Who were they again?"

"Godric Gryffindor," the Fat Lady recited proudly, "Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and.. Salazar Slytherin. There are a few portraits of them in the castle, though I don't recall where."

"No one seems to like, um, Slytherin much."

"Well, he has.. done some things." She gestured about vaguely and dismissively, which Allen took to be more about the topic itself than because she didn't want to talk about it with him, a Slytherin. Whatever water that held anyway. "And the Slytherins are- oh, well. They're very.."

"They're kind of rude, some of them." From what Neah told him at least. Allen also didn't really like snakes to begin with. "..But the Hat puts you where you're meant to be, doesn't it?"

The Fat Lady seemed to hesitate on her words.

"..It put Black in Gryffindor, didn't it?" she said finally, and with a great bit of reluctance. "And _he_ went to You-Know-Who in the end."

"Oh, that's true." Allen thought about that. "...Well, people change. Maybe something happened to him after school that... changed his mind?"

"He was such a good child," the Fat Lady lamented. "Devil of a troublemaker, but what child isn't? They were all _such_ wonderful children... It breaks my heart to think of what they've become."

Allen thought of how Voldemort had come from Hogwarts, too. What did Dumbledore think about that?

By the time Malinda found him, the Fat Lady had gotten onto the topic of one of the graduated students rocking boats in the magical entertainment field. Something about the widespread use of Siren's Extract to win fans, and how that was about as legal as Bulgaria having Veelas dance at every Quidditch World Cup.

Which was to say, it was just barely skirting international laws and had handily earned dozens of wizard entertainers a slap on the wrist and some moderate fines.

He was trying to ask if she thought Veela Extract would have the same effect when Malinda dragged him off impatiently, so instead he just waved to the Fat Lady and promised to come back another time.

"I can't believe you'd rather talk to a _painting_ than your own House," Glenmoor grumbled after Malinda relayed the story to him in the Common Rooms. " _All_ the paintings knew where he was?"

Malinda nodded. Apparently they'd all pointed her in the same direction.

"She knows a lot of stuff!" Allen said in defense. Someone on the couch coughed loudly.

"From _fifty years ago_."

"All knowledge is useful."

They shared that sort of helpless look they did often. He knew wasn't being very... _Slytherin_ like, at least, based on what he'd seen of the rest of his House. They were all very. Proper. In many ways. Even Glenmoor sometimes managed to move in ways that reminded Allen of his uncle, who could pull off Snobby Imperious Pure-blood pretty well.

Allen was pretty sure he was not very fond of Pure-bloods. Or at least, he wasn't fond of the way most of them acted. A bit tiring to be around for very long.

Which probably explained why he could only stand being around Neah for so long, on certain days, in certain moods.

"You shouldn't be wandering around out there alone," Malfoy said from one of the chairs near the fireplace. His goons— friends were sitting across from him, books open in their laps. "It isn't safe, you know. Wouldn't want to lose us points for breaking curfew, or going after a killer."

"I would never!" Allen said, almost offended Malfoy would think he'd actually go after someone trying to kill people. Or maybe Malfoy was just being his own brand of 'worried'. "I wasn't even alone for that long."

"The Fat Lady doesn't count," Glenmoor piped up. "Paintings can't help you. Paintings don't count."

"Well I can't very well glue one of you to my side, can I?"

"Your uncle's too busy?" Malinda asked.

"No, he's with Harry. Since he has less to do than most teachers in the school."

" _Harry_?" Malfoy sneered.

"...Yes, Harry. That's his name, last I recall."

"You—" Malfoy scowled and cut himself off a few times, like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how to say it. "You're... You can't—"

Allen knew what he meant by it, and he chose to ignore it. He had homework to do. Sort of. It was the main reason why he'd agreed to letting Malinda drag him out to the Common Rooms on this lovely rainy evening, anyway.

That, and he still hadn't picked up or paid for his candy. He was probably going to forget again if no one reminded him before the day was over.

With the mention of Harry Potter and the threat looming in the school corridors, chatter started to pick up about how Black could have gotten into the castle. Allen heard everything from the standard Invisibility Potion and Invisibility Cloak, to more extreme things like _Imperius_ , or even a traitor. Someone bribed with all the wealth of the Black family to sneak him in.

No one indicated their own family. Maybe if Allen wasn't there, they might have.

"So your uncle's playing babysitter now?" Glenmoor asked in an attempt to be casual. It wasn't half bad.

"Bodyguard," Allen corrected, skimming through Malinda's essay. Group proofreading was one thing he was still getting used to. "That's what he told me anyway. Wanted to be sure I'd be okay if he wasn't around."

"He's here for you, then? Why? Can't be anything the teachers here can't handle. Well, except maybe Trelawney."

"Oh, it's, well. Something of a magic problem. Not magi _cal_ , but.. sort of. All of us in _Rosa Croce_ were there because we had... issues with our magic." Being orphans early on tended to do that. Especially when they could be the reasons why they were orphans to begin with. "Neah had the same problems when he was a kid, so he came to Hogwarts with me to make sure nothing too bad happened. And, well, I've been fine so far."

"You've only been here, what, 2 months?" Malinda looked oddly focused on the the parchment she was reading through. "What's the worst that could have happened?"

"...Someone wants to kill a student and actually got into the castle? That's. That's pretty bad."

"So far we've had _basilisks_ ," she started, punctuating it with a tap of her wand on the parchment, to Glenmoor's growing horror, "giant three-headed dogs, a dragon hatched, kids kidnapped into the school sewers, someone _sabotaged_ a Quidditch match.."

The fact that she'd listed Quidditch sabotage in the same vein as _kidnapping_ said a lot about how this school worked.

"That's it? That's not so bad." Hm. "Anyone die?"

"Er... no? The Gryffindor girl who got taken, we thought she was dead for sure. What with the basilisk and all."

"She was kidnapped by a basilisk?"

" _No_ , she—"

"Mister Walker."

Snape's voice came muffled from the other side of the hidden doorway. At the same time, Allen heard a commotion from the other end, where the underwater windows were. When he looked, there are several dark shadows swimming away beyond the magical barrier.

Someone went up to open the door. Snape was there, of course, but Neah and Harry were also there behind him.

"Uncle?" Allen got up and went over, not so much worried as he was curious. "Hullo, Harry."

"Er. Hi."

"I see you're busy and in good company." Neah waved at him. "Thank you, Severus. Did you need to stay until we were done?"

"I will," said Snape. "To make sure the door is sealed after. We can't risk... _accidentally_ leaving it open for someone to _sneak in_."

"Too true!" That was probably a poorly concealed rib at Neah, but his uncle didn't look concerned. "Allen, I'm going to be accompanying Mister Potter here to the Quidditch pitch for his practice session. I thought I might ask if you'd like to come along, get some fresh air."

"I thought we weren't allowed out. Curfew and all."

"I'm _supervising_."

Allen was not very convinced. Not of Neah's ability to protect them, but of whether they were actually allowed out or if Neah was just trying to weasel his way out of the castle, being bored and all.

"We get fresh air during Herbology lessons," he said lamely.

"Tepid water fumes and chlorophyll don't count as fresh air, nephew. Come now, up and out. You'll wither away to an empty husk if you stay indoors any longer."

Allen hesitated, though it'd be a while before he knew why. It didn't take long for Glenmoor to stand up too.

"We can come with you, keep you company," he said, looking at Malinda. "Right? Malinda?"

She didn't answer. Allen turned and saw that she was looking between them, him and Neah and Snape. Snape, who wasn't looking too pleased with all this.

Allen figured that was just his default expression though.

"—Yeah!" she said, distracted. "Of course. Just have to pack up our things..."

Allen didn't think too much about it. If he were a normal kid being asked to go outside the castle walls where someone like Black could get to them, he'd have trouble focusing too.

"Watch yourselves out there, Mister Glenmoor. Miss Seymound." Snape's eyes bored into Allen's, and in another life he might have been able to detect the small amount of disdain found there, having seen it so often before. "...Mister Walker."

And in another life, he might have become someone else because of it. Someone more hardened and stubborn, someone crude and defensive. Someone angrier.

In this life, he had an uncle.

"Walker- _Campbell_ , Severus."

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Is it, now?"

Neah tutted. "That's not for you to decide, is it?"

And then he swept them three of them away like a mother hen her chicks.

It was mollifying, to say the least. Allen couldn't even bring himself to deny being related.

"Thank you for letting me fetch my nephew, Mister Potter."

Harry startled a bit. Neah Campbell had been walking next to him very quietly so far.

"Sure," he said. "No problem. And, er, thanks again for watching over Quidditch practice. It means a lot- to me. We're trying to win the Quidditch Cup this year, and our first match is against Slytherin, so I think— I should warn you that, well, I don't think my teammates might be too happy with you there. Or with Allen. Or... them. Being that they're, um, Slytherins and all."

"He's only been a Slytherin for 2 months. Neither of us are very attached to the idea of the Quidditch Cup." Campbell spun his wand around the way Harry had seen people spin pens. It looked a little dangerous. "I'll keep an eye on the other two, make sure they don't do anything.. against the spirit of competition."

"Great." Harry beamed, but it quickly faltered. "Allen seemed pretty attached to the Slytherins, if you ask me."

"Oh, _that_. I doubt it's anything personal. No need to think on it too much. I heard he does it quite often."

"..I'm not sure I understand."

Campbell slowed down just enough that Allen and the other girl were out of earshot ahead of them. Harry felt curiously unnerved by this change of pace.

"Do you intend to befriend him, Mister Potter?" he asked quietly.

Harry was not sure how to answer that.

"Um... Well."

"He's a Slytherin, as you've said. And from what I've seen, Gryffindors and Slytherins don't get along all too well... Actually, Slytherins and anyone really."

"I'm— I suppose I'm not against it. Sir." Campbell was a bit. Hm. Strange. "It's just that most Slytherins are, you know. Rather unpleasant to be around. Allen isn't, I think. And, er. She. Her."

"Malinda Seymound."

"Right. Seymound, she's been, erm. She's been all right so far... I don't know about the other bloke, though."

She hadn't looked at him like he was an old carpet stain, at least. He'd think it was because she was older, but a lot of the older Slytherins were just as awful as Malfoy. The other fellow, he looked like he was trying to pretend Harry didn't exist.

Which was par for the course with the Dursleys, so Harry was rather unbothered by it.

"Allen is very protective," said Campbell. "He might agree with you that many Slytherins are... less than kind people. But since he's been assigned to that House, he'll do his best to try to get along with them." Campbell looked to the side at what Harry could only see was nothing but thin air. "..For now."

That didn't sound ominous at all.

"He'd have to choose eventually, won't he?" It felt utterly dramatic to Harry, being worried for a Slytherin. Quasi-Slytherin. "They wouldn't like him being friends with a Gryffindor, and- er, I guess my House wouldn't like me being friendly with a Slytherin either."

"He'll choose if he has to. As should you, Mister Potter."

"It-" _It doesn't seem fair_ , was what Harry had stopped himself from saying. Swell as Allen was, Harry wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't eventually turn out like Malfoy. "..So that's why he didn't want us talking bad about Malfoy?"

"If he had anything bad to say about Mister Malfoy, he'd say it to his face and not behind his back, don't you think? He has, actually. He got detention for it, if you recall."

Harry thought about that. Given that Allen had actually _cursed_ Malfoy in front of everyone at the Great Hall, he felt it was safe to assume that Allen would, actually, tell it to Malfoy's face.

Also, Campbell looked too proud about the fact that his nephew had gotten detention for telling off and jinxing his own Housemate. Ron was right. The Campbells were weird.

"Do you do this with everyone he talks to?" Harry asked. He hoped not. It was a very unnerving thought.

"Only the ones he's keen on," Campbell said, smiling. "And those who might be keen on him. So far, that's only you, Mister Potter."

It did not sound particularly reassuring. But, that was the end of that topic, so Harry promptly shelved it away until either Ron or Hermione asked about it.

"So, this _Quidditch Cup_... means quite a bit to you?"

"It does to Wood. Oh, he's our team captain. Did Professor McGonagall tell you any of this?"

"I rather inferred it from the fact that she so leniently allowed all of you to practice outside with a mass murderer on the loose that it was a rather important matter. She didn't tell me much about the Cup or the game itself, though."

"Oh." Well. That meant he didn't have to worry so much about either of them trying to sabotage the practice. Right? Why sabotage something if you don't even know how important it is? "Um. We _should_ have won the last two years, but things... happened, and someone was always injured or, you know, in a coma during the last match, so we've lost both years. Professor McGonagall _really_ wants to see us win this year, so..."

Campbell gestured towards the Quidditch pitch with a flourish. "So she's letting you practice out in the open while a mass murderer is on the loose."

"Yeah. That."

Harry really wished the man would stop repeating _mass murderer on the loose_ , like Harry wasn't already aware that Sirius Black was trying to kill him for some dark, awful, twisted reasoning. It made everything _so_ much worse.

"Do you, er, do you play? Quidditch, I mean."

"We didn't have Quidditch when I was in school," Campbell said with a hum. "I'm not sure if _Rosa Croce_ has one, but if it's anything like its predecessor, chances are it doesn't either. Nor flying lessons that I recall, but I have the memory of a sieve these days."

"That sounds awful. I can't imagine not being able to play Quidditch- well, I can, actually, every Summer. But I can't imagine _never_ having the chance to.." Not anymore. Not now that Harry knew what Quidditch was and how much he loved flying. "You didn't go to Rose Cross, sir?"

" _Medea_ , no. Rose Cross is too new, it's only been around a decade or two. Although, Noah's _Accademia_ wasn't that old, either... Vatican City isn't exactly known for its contribution to magical education."

Noah's... _accademia_? Academy?

"I thought all magical schools were old?" From what he'd heard from Hermione, who had read it in some book of hers. Probably _A History of Magic_. "Isn't that kind of mandatory?"

"Well, if your goal is the sustained and continued education and preservation of magical society, then, yes. That requires accumulation of materials and knowledge, and so on. Muggle education is much the same, isn't it? Oxford, and the like."

Harry blinked. He'd never thought someone like Campbell would know anything about Muggle education... or Muggle anything, to be honest. Wasn't he a Pure-blood? Weren't Pure-bloods supposed to.. not really care about Muggles at all? That was the impression he'd gotten so far.

Oh, but Ron's family was Pure-blood too. And, well. They had a flying car.

Had, being the keyword.

Campbell didn't seem to notice Harry silently questioning everything he believed in. "Schools like that would have been started many decades ago, upwards of hundreds or thousands of years. But there are a number of private schools made for different purposes. Like _de Flitt's Private Academy of Magic_ , or whatever she's calling it now. I hear she has a rather peculiar method for teaching. Effective, of course, otherwise she wouldn't be able to charge as much as she does, but with a more.. specialized result. I hear she usually only teaches students who already have their futures laid out for them."

"Oh," said Harry numbly, because he had never thought about private schools before. Especially not magical ones.

The only private school the Dursleys would've ever deliberately sent him too would have been one with the strictest (and most awful) disciplinary standards. They spared no expense to make his life extremely unpleasant, so long as it did not involve actually spending anything.

It was all well and good, then, that private schools tended to be pretty pricey.

"So, um," Harry started, awkwardly. "What... er. Well. Professor McGonagall was going to have, erm, Madam Hooch watching us."

Campbell inclined his head. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

"Then how come you're here, Mister Campbell? I mean. Are you..." Harry tried not to fidget too much while trying to figure out how to ask _are you actually capable of protecting me_ without sounding condescending. "I heard Black is pretty ruthless."

He wouldn't have worried about it until he found out that Black was capable of some really bad murder. And also when he realized that there were, in fact, some adult wizards who were not very good in a fight. Like Trelawney, probably.

"You're worried if I'd be his match?" Campbell let out a chuckle, which was not really the reaction Harry had been expecting. "I've fought Dark Wizards before, Mister Potter. No need to worry, you and your friends will be safe."

Did 'fight' mean kill? Had Campbell killed Dark Wizards before? Was it self-defense? Did that still count as murder? Did Dumbledore knowingly employ a murderer?

"Oh!" Harry said instead. "That's great. I think. I hope so."

"As I said," Campbell said again, smiling. " _Perfectly_ safe."

Harry hoped he was right.

/ / / / /

And, as it turned out, he was. But only because the most exciting thing that happened was Fred and George betting who would slip off their broom with the light drizzle first.

It was Harry. A bludger clipped the head of his broom when he wasn't looking, but he managed to keep a hold of it and climb back, which meant that technically neither Fred nor George won any bets. Wood gave him an earful about it after practice was over. Harry couldn't very well say he'd been preoccupied with keeping an eye on his surroundings, even with Campbell there.

Wood was being especially testy today in general, though. Probably a combination of the upcoming match, the fact that this was his last year to play Quidditch, and the, well, threat looming above all of their heads. It probably did not help that Allen tried to offer candy to them.

But it was good candy, as Harry found out. Honeyduke's. There were even a number of things that Ron and Hermione hadn't gotten when they went, but he couldn't be sure if it was for lack of funds or if they just didn't think he'd like them.

"It's my uncle's money," Allen said almost morosely, trying to tear a piece of a humongous Jelly Slug off with his teeth. "No idea where he gets it from, but he says _spend it wisely_ , so I did."

Maybe it was blood money.

"What's this stuff?" Harry pried open a small tin. The smell made his throat seize up almost instantly like he was holding a pack of sour candy. "Sour gummies?"

"Oh, that's..." Allen pried out a piece and chewed on it with a pinched look. "Sour Crystallised Pineapples."

Harry followed his example with a laugh and made the same face. It was pretty sour. "Sounds expensive."

"I guess." The older boy tore open a chocolate frog pack and bit off the head. "Malfoy gave it to me."

Harry gagged on the piece in his mouth and almost spat it out. Almost, because suddenly the candy felt so sour that his cheeks were hurting and he did not want to make it worse. If Allen hadn't eaten one he would have thought it was cursed or something.

"You guys really don't like Malfoy, do you?" Glenmoor remarked.

"Well," said Harry, eloquently, because his face was still in pain.

"He's an arse," Allen said. He seemed to be enjoying his now headless frog, which was a scene Harry had seen many times before, but it just was all the more ominous when a Slytherin did it. "Also, he insulted my father."

"Mine- mine too."

"Draco insults everyone's father," Malinda said cheerfully. She must have gotten a nice Bertie Bott's jellybean flavor. "Just not as, um, directly. He thinks his dad is better than everyone else's dad."

"Malfoys tend to do that," Glenmoor agreed.

"Really? That's not how it looked to me," Allen chirped. "And anyway, my father is definitely better than his father."

He sounded pretty sure for something he said he didn't remember much about. Harry felt the same way about his own dad, though, so he kind of understood.

"Potter!" Aaaand that was Wood again.

Harry raised his head to find out where the Quidditch Captain was calling him from, and saw Hermione and Ron trotting over. Campbell appeared out of thin air (he suspected it was just out of his line of vision, but given out startled Hermione and Ron were, it was doubtful) and gave them a once-over, waving his wand above their heads before giving Ron a pat on the shoulder.

"Blimey, that was a surprise. Where did he even come from?" he heard Ron ask nervously as they came closer. Harry focused on them for a split second and found that Campbell had, mysteriously, disappeared again. Ron evidently noticed this too. "Where did he go?!"

"He does that," Allen said. He moved the pile of candy over to make room on the bleachers. "Candy?"

"He can't have gone very far if he's watching Harry," Hermione said. She didn't look around too much and was about to sit down when he saw her looking at the tin of pineapples. "...Harry, are those-"

"They're, er, Allen's." Harry nudged them away from him and closer to Allen.

"Oh," she responded, looking slightly relieved but still a little alarmed and confused. Ron was still wary.

"They're from Malfoy," Allen confirmed, throwing another one in his mouth. "Want another, Harry?"

" _Oh_ ," Hermione said again, much less relieved. ".. _Another_?"

"I _didn't know it was from Malfoy_ ," Harry said in defense.

"Are you alright?" Ron immediately sat down next to him. "You're not feeling anything, are you? Faint, lightheaded, 'bout to puke? Oy, his face is red, isn't it?"

"It should be, he's been flying for the better part of an hour," Campbell said, drifting by below them. "I've checked the candy. All of it. Perfectly safe and edible, aside from all the intended maladies."

Hermione frowned. " _Intended_ maladies?"

"Acid Pops," he said simply. "Have you ever tried Curse-breaking an Acid Pop before, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's expression fell for a moment, then brightened again. "Acid Pops are cursed?"

"If they are, it's a harmless one that isn't detected by standard Curse-breaking protocol."

"Why would you want to Curse-break an Acid Pop?" Glenmoor snorted. "That's the whole point of Acid Pops. Otherwise it's just... sour candy."

"Just sour candy is good," Allen said. He ate another pineapple piece slowly. "I like just sour candy."

"Yeah. So do I," Harry added.

Hermione chimed in, "What they said."

"What sort of wizards are you?" Glenmoor looked aghast. "Acid Pops are a staple!"

"I think you're biased, Slàine."

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"Why? It's just candy."

" _It's just candy—_ "

"What about Sherbet Lemons?" Harry asked as the two continued on their own tangent. "Have you got any of those?"

"I _did_ ," Allen said, loudly. "Until my uncle _took them all_."

"I took _half_ ," Campbell called out from the stands above them. Harry tried not to jump, which was more than could be said for Ron, Hermione, and Allen's friends. "I miss the taste of _limoncino_."

"You could, erm, ask the House-elves," Ron suggested. "They can make just about anything."

"Thank you, Mister Weasely, but I drink enough as it is."

Ron frowned, confused. "You- oh. _Oh_ , is that what that is? Oh. Er. I don't think they can make that."

"All the better." Campbell gave them something of a smile and stood up. Evidently it was not very dangerous out here, if he felt comfortable sitting down to watch over them. "Might want to start cleaning up. Curfew isn't far off and you'll want to change out of that Quidditch gear before then, Mister Potter."

"That's right!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's why we came out here in the first place. We didn't see you outside the changing room and were worried something had happened on the field."

"Oh. Thanks, um." Harry gestured to the pile of sweets, which was already rapidly disappearing into... somewhere. "I was kidnapped by candy."

"Where do you even keep all of that, Allen?" Campbell asked as he came down the bleachers. "Your pockets? You just carry candy around in your pockets?"

"I do have a lot of pockets," Allen said, his voice muffled by a chunk of Jelly Slug. The rest of the sweets were indeed being stuffed into the very non-standard inside pockets of his robes, clearly modified for maximum carrying capacity. "And why shouldn't I? It's _just candy_."

The last part was mockingly aimed at Glenmoor, who made a face and tried to wrestle a Chocolate Frog away from Allen while ranting something about _blasphemous_ and _unconventional_ and _disrespect for the industry_.

Allen would not stop laughing the entire way across the grounds, lending to a pretty jovial mood for an otherwise trying day. Harry was able to forget about Wood for the moment.

Until he turned around at the castle doors and saw Campbell looking across the field. Until he saw what looked like shadowy figures shifting under the eaves of the Forbidden Forest, behind the Whomping Willow.

The shadows went away shortly, and all was still again. Campbell turned around. His eyes seemed to gleam white with the setting sunlight.

"Curfew, Mister Potter," he said pleasantly, a hand patting lightly against Harry's shoulder. The light shifted and his eyes were back to normal again, dark as ever, with a smile that may or may not have reached them. "Best not to give Severus a reason for assigning detention."

"Does he really need a reason?" Harry muttered under his breath. He shared a knowing grimace with Ron.

"He will, so long as I'm around. By all rights, he cannot blame you for missing curfew if it's my duty to make sure you _don't_ miss it. Though I do not suggest trying to undermine school rules in this way."

Harry's plans to skip classes and stay out late were dashed before they even had a chance to form. He tried not to look too disappointed.

Campbell was looking at the Whomping Willow again, but nothing happened this time. No eye color changes, no weird shifting of shadows, no utter darkness and gloom or otherwise murderous beings descending from on high.

He turned back, and Harry felt like he'd been caught peeking for some reason.

"Curfew, Mister Potter." A smile curled, slow like smoke. "Sirius Black isn't the only danger lurking at Hogwarts this year."

Harry couldn't tell if this feeling he gave off _safety_ or something else. Something less comfortable and reassuring.

"Were you watching?"

Sirius looked up from his half-peeled apple. "..Watching what?"

"The Gryffindor Quidditch team practice."

He snorted. "How am I supposed to watch that? Do you have any idea how far away the Quidditch pitch is from the castle?"

"Oh? You actually behaved and stayed here instead of sneaking over?"

"I'm not a fool."

"I beg to differ. You are _here_ , after all."

Sirius couldn't argue with that. He did sneak into Hogwarts with nothing but a stolen wand and some shabby clothes, and the memories of his school years.

In hindsight, Hogwarts' security did seem to be lacking a bit. Just a bit.

"It's good that you agreed," said his... benefactor. Smuggler. Accomplice? "If you'd stayed in that tree, they might have found you by now."

"That's impossible," Sirius muttered. He twitched the wand in his hand and continued peeling the apple. "Dementors aren't allowed on Hogwarts grounds, if I know Dumbledore. He wouldn't let them near the students no matter what."

"You're right... But they've infiltrated the Forbidden Forest. Rubeus found the centaur herd very restless. It's fortunate that Dementors don't feed on anything but humans."

Sirius kept quiet. The apple skin fell onto an empty barrel lid in a long spiral when he was done.

"Are you sure they're doing all that just to look for me?" He bit into the apple and took a moment to savor it, then devoured it in record time. It'd been a while since he had fresh fruit. "Or are they looking for _you_?"

Campbell slanted a smile at him, flickering with the lamplight.

"Could be they're looking for the boy," he said. He tossed over an orange and set down a platter of food.

He caught the orange tossed the apple core into a bin. It was in the dark parts of the room but he'd long remembered where it was by now. "Mine? Or yours?"

There wasn't a response. Maybe it was a sore spot. _Careful_ , he told himself. _He could have just told Dumbledore right off instead of helping. He still can._

"..You're putting a lot of effort into this," Sirius remarked, looking at his supper. Might be leftovers from whatever Campbell and his kid were eating. Might be something he set aside. Sirius hated huddling in the dark like a convict (well, actually), but this definitely beat digging into trash cans. "Hard to sneak this away, isn't it? Doesn't your nephew ask questions?"

"I haven't called him down to eat yet," Campbell replied easily. "And I bring the dishes up after he's gone. I know what I'm doing, Black."

"Just worried you'll get tired of it and rat me out to the nearest person, Campbell."

"If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have waited this long."

"Three days is hardly long."

Sirius ate in relative silence. The taste hadn't changed much, at least of the things he could recognize. There were a few dishes that looked particularly Italian, which Sirius wouldn't have ever thought to ask the House-elves for otherwise.

At this point, any food was good food.

"Slow down," Campbell said softly, and not for the first time. "I can bring more later."

"Awfully kind of you." But he did slow down, now eating at a pace more like a rather hungry teenager who'd been swinging at bludgers all day, instead of a starving animal. "Is it worth it?"

"I don't _really_ have to protect Harry from you, since you're not exactly a danger to him. But I do have to supervise him, just to keep everyone happy. Which means I can't keep an eye on Allen as much as I used to."

"You think _I_ can?" Sirius let out a snort. "It's not like I can just walk around the castle with him. I'm wanted for mass murder, in case you haven't heard the news."

"So am I, dear. You're not that special," Campbell drawled, inspecting his nails. "And, yes. I do think you can."

Sirius opened his mouth to ask _how_ , when Campbell's eyes flashed white. Just like they had when he found Sirius under the Whomping Willow.

" _Alright_ , alright!" Sirius shouted, swatting away the inky shadows creeping towards his supper until they withdrew and Campbell's eyes stopped being eerie beacons in the dark. "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"Unfortunately, you did. Now you can be a therapy dog for my nephew. Who knows? Maybe he'll even invite Harry over one of these days, and then you'll get to see him for yourself."

That was... quite a thought. Enough to make him stop eating for a good while.

Campbell set a bottle of Firewhiskey onto the barrel lid.

"I'll be back later for the plates. Once you feel up to it, we can arrange for you to run into Allen and get you two acquainted. He'd like dogs, I think."

Sirius wasn't sure he liked the idea that Campbell didn't even know if his nephew would want to have a massive dog around.

"That's all you want me to do?" He asked quietly. Hoarsely. "And you'll get Pettigrew for me in return?"

"Sirius Black," Campbell said, lowly, leaning forward with his hands braced against the rim of the barrel. His eyes were black, normal, but they held a light in them that promised more destruction than any magical beast ever could. "If you keep my nephew safe, I would destroy Hogwarts for you, if you asked."

Then he paused, and leaned back.

"... Just the castle of course. And I'd evacuate the students first. And the plants. I don't think I could lay a hand on the Hippogriffs, they are _such darlings_ , oh and the _owls_. I'd have to set them free before tearing down the Owlery... I wonder if boggarts can die if they're crushed... and _Peeves_..."

Campbell continued ticking things off on his hands, quickly reaching double digits, while Sirius slowly started eating again. Even if Campbell was being facetious about it ( _destroy Hogwarts?_ who was he kidding?), it still sounded reassuring enough.

"..Thanks." He meant it. It was all he'd been thinking and dreaming about for years since his capture. "And.. sorry. About the- about your neck. Didn't get a chance to say that before, when you were smuggling me into the castle."

"What, this? Nothing to worry about it. How's your leg?"

"Better. Less broken, no thanks to you." Campbell bowed with a flourish, like he was expecting applause. Sirius just reached for the Firewhiskey. To dull the pain, since he couldn't right well walk up to Madam Pomfrey to get it fixed up. "Good to hear it's not giving you any trouble breathing or anything. You didn't exactly go easy on me."

"It's fine," Campbell said, prodding the fading bruise on his neck. He was all overly-indulgent smiles. "Marian's given me worse."

Sirius took a _really long drink_ of Firewhiskey.

* * *

. . .

* * *

 **end notes:**

 _sherbet lemons_ : as I found out, sherbet in the uk also stands for fizzy sweet powder, which is what the sherbet lemon contains. took me a few minutes to realize this was the lemon drops in the US versions.  
 _limoncino_ : aka limoncello, or lemon liqueur. north italian term.

trying not to make this All About Allen... it's hard. we're getting there.

also where the heck did the last 3k words come from i can't believe it took me 9 months just to bang that out in one (1) day.


	9. running like moths to the flame

another 9.2oddk for you guys...sure did overshoot that 8k goal.

anyway i heard you wanted plot. did you want plot? no? well too fkcin bad here's a shitton of plot for you to ruminate on and curse me out over.

warnings: none that i can think of. lmk if anything should be added for future readers.

* * *

 _ **9: running like moths to the fame.**_

* * *

Halfway through tackling the last of the reading for History of Magic (which he'd learned was apparently an appalling thing to do, because Binns never remembered even assigning it), Allen heard a knock at the door.

Which was strange, because Neah wouldn't knock. If it was a member of staff, they've would've used the password for emergency entrance.. unless they were being polite.

"Allen? Are you in there? It's Malinda. And Slàine."

Or if they were actually not teachers at all. He'd forgotten Malinda knew where he was staying now. And, looking around at the empty room, he thought it was maybe a good thing. That someone else knew where he and Neah were eking out their existence.

After so many years holed up in _Rosa Croce_ , on the move with Cross, and... whatever he couldn't remember of his positively _wonderful_ years with Mana (they had to be. absolutely.), he was starting to get tired of the whole isolation thing.

If it weren't for the fact that he didn't have complete control of his magic (or himself, for that matter), he'd be chatting up a storm everywhere he went.

"Allen? Are you hiding?"

"We know you're in there, Walker! Your uncle sent us!"

Oh right the door there were still people out there. And so he let them in.

"What did my uncle want?" he asked as soon as the door was open.

"He didn't," Glenmoor said smoothly, practically barging into the room. Allen swerved aside. "I lied."

"You wouldn't have let us in otherwise, would you?" Malinda smiled apologetically.

"I would have!" Allen complained, though he didn't make any attempts to look affronted at all. "Probably. Maybe!"

"Very reassuring, Allen."

"I try to be." He closed the door behind them and tapped a few spots to reactivate the Warding spells. "What are you guys doing here, then? This place isn't exactly on the way to.. anywhere, really."

"You've been all cooped up since your uncle dragged us out for Quidditch," Malinda said, throwing herself onto the couch. Then she sat up quickly, alarmed. "Can I sit on this? Your uncle hasn't rigged it or anything, has he?"

"..I'm not sure." Allen looked between her and the couch for a few seconds. Then he jabbed his wand into the armchair across from her. The springs burst out of the cushion and wobbled loudly at them, before slinking back into place and repairing itself. He grinned. "Nope! Yours is fine."

Malinda jumped off the couch and slid into one of the dining table chairs instead. Glenmoor stared at him for a good moment, and then followed suit.

"It's perfectly safe!" he said. The couch looked very lonely and plaintive.

They did not listen to him, so he relented and joined them at the table too.

"It's been _weeks_ , Allen. Everyone keeps asking us where you are because they think we know where you're staying."

"You do know where I'm staying," Allen said slowly. "And it's only been. One week."

"Really? But you've already eaten all your candy."

"Yes?" He frowned. "It's been a week? Of course I'd eat it all? Did you think I'd let it sit around for months?"

"Are your teeth okay," Glenmoor said bluntly and with a bit of a grimace. Allen bared his teeth. "That's not helpful!"

"I know." He turned the snarl into a grin. "So, why are you here again? Not that I'm trying to get rid of you or anything! It's just. Um. Weird, having company."

"You've had a dreadful life there, Walker."

"I know..."

"Well, _I'm_ not going to turn this into a _heart-to-heart_ by being nosy, so—"

" _I'm not nosy!_ "

"We're just worried about you. You know, with all that's happened, everyone's kind of.. on edge. And we don't see you outside of classes, so we're. Um. Worried."

"That's called a heart-to-heart, Glenmoor," Allen said slowly. "..Also, the Slytherins are going around telling everyone _you're next_."

"I think they're just trying not to think about the possibility that Black might go after _them_ too." Glenmoor scratched his cheek. "Happened with the Basilisk last year too, except that was even scarier when we found out it'd been living in the school the entire time."

"Wait what? You never said anything about it _living in the school_."

"In the plumbing," Malinda said. "And it wasn't like we were letting it live there on _purpose_. Apparently some _Heir of Slytherin_ set it loose in there ages ago and our entire house _loved_ the idea that another Heir was back and having it attack, um, Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. But then that Pure-blood girl was taken, so everyone kind of..."

"Eventually they just kind of told themselves it was her fault, being a blood-traitor- ow!" Glenmoor yelped when Malinda pinched his elbow. "Sorry!"

Allen didn't know what a _blood traitor_ was, but he supposed it was exactly what it sounded like.

" _My point is_ , everyone is their own version of irritable and terrified and _off the bend_ , so... you know. Here we are... Checking up on you... Like friends do..."

Allen stared at him. Glenmoor stared back.

Then Malinda gave him a pat on the shoulder as he buried his face in his arms.

"He's getting used to the whole friends thing," she said, because Allen did not think he had ever looked so confused before in his life. Was she joking actually? "And to being nice. Trying to. But we really are worried, Allen. At least. Mildly concerned. We have to look out for each other, and keeping all that stuff bottled up doesn't help anyone. Helps if you talk about it."

"That's very _heartwarming_ ," Allen replied, stressing the word in Glenmoor's direction. The other boy made a sound into his arms like an affronted Hippogriff. "And I appreciate the concern. Really. I think."

"You see that, Slàine?" She elbowed Glenmoor in the side. "That's how you respond to casual affection and concern. Except for that last bit, that was kind of worrying."

"Sounded fine to me," Glenmoor grumbled, still facing the table.

"Me too?" Allen agreed.

" _Boys_ ," Malinda sighed. "Fine. If you don't want to talk, do you mind if we do homework here with you? I brought our things so we can stay and keep you company."

"You brought my homework?" Glenmoor finally looked up, aghast. "You brought _stuff_?"

"I've been walking next to you for the past 15 minutes, Slàine," Malinda said, reaching into her bookbag and taking out book after book after scroll of parchment. "Do you not notice anything around you?"

"Is this the face of an observant person?" He leaned over to see her _still_ taking things out. "How do you keep all that in there?"

"There's an Extension Charm on it! My mom made it for me this past summer. Dad had to Charm it, of course."

Glenmoor furrowed his brow. "...Isn't that illegal."

"Well, yes, but he's Ministry. It's Ministry approved."

"I don't think that's how Ministry approval works," Allen pitched in.

"Do you want one?"

She offered it up for him to look at, which he did. He couldn't even tell if it was empty yet or not, it weighed practically… like a normal bag with a few books in it.

"Um.. I'm fine with mine." He handed it back to her. "Somehow I get the feeling you'll be peddling those out to everyone in the school and starting some sort of underground market for School Bags With Practical Carry-Space."

"Do you think that'd be a good idea? I can't imagine why these things don't exist already, I mean. Have you _seen_ the amount of school work we get? All the stuff we have to carry around!"

"Yes," Allen said, thinking about his own very worn down bag with a half-assed (illegal) Extension Charm on it, courtesy of both Cross and Neah. He couldn't remember who did it last. "I have suffered it as well."

" _New And Practical Methods Of Applying Charms To Your Daily Life,_ " Malinda said out loud while writing this title down on a piece of parchment. " _Part 1: Loosening The Strict Control On Undetectable Extension Charms._ "

"Part _1_? Are you writing a _book_?!"

"No, of course not. It's for Flitwick, obviously."

"Was that the homework assignment?" Allen asked in quickly dawning horror. He did not remember anything about writing a book. He did not remember a lot lately, actually, but he definitely would have remembered being asked to write a book.

"Yeah," said Glenmoor, at the exact same moment Malinda said, "No."

They looked at each other.

"..It wasn't?" Glenmoor continued, slowly extracting his paper from the pile with apparently shaking hands. Allen couldn't tell if he was pretending to be terrified or not.

"I'm doing it for extra credit." Malinda stole a look at the paper and frowned. "It's blank! You didn't even write anything."

"I was _prepared to_! Do you know how much time I spent reading those books on Charms?" Glenmoor gestured vaguely. "A lot!"

"Well. Now you know a lot more about Charms."

"Nnnnnot anymore."

"Did you just. Delete your entire memory of reading all those books? What if it could have been useful later?"

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Wow!" That was definitely sarcasm. Probably. Allen wasn't sure, because she was turning to him now. "How did your Charms paper go?"

"There was _other_ homework?" He and Glenmoor said at the same time. Entirely not planned. Malinda looked at them both with a concerned frown.

"I'm kidding," Allen followed up. "I did the assignment."

"You were _kidding_?" Glenmoor gaped at him. Then he hastily pulled out another roll of parchment because Malinda looked ready to ground him. Or ready to get their Head Girl to ground him. "Well, so was I! Don't look at me like that. I'm not a _complete_ idiot."

Allen thought that sounded a bit too much like Snape for comfort.

/ / / / /

They left for supper, and thought about eating in the dorm with Allen another time. Curfew wouldn't be long after, so he didn't expect to see them again today.

Allen mulled over what the earlier conversation. Maybe talking to someone who know about all of this wasn't such a bad idea.

The problem was who to talk to. He couldn't contact Linali or Lavi, or else _Rosa Croce_ might catch wind of it. The same went for Kanda, except for the added fact that Allen wouldn't talk to Kanda about his issues unless he was on death's doorstep. Either doorstep. Maybe half a doorstep if he really, really had to.

And seeing as Neah was one of those issues, he couldn't talk to his uncle either.

Which meant the only person left was...

" _What,_ " came Cross's voice from the flame in the glass phial.

"It's, um. It's me," Allen said quietly. His hands tightened around the glass, like he was hoping it could warm them up. "I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

It didn't.

" _Like what exactly?_ "

"Like... a guest..."

" _You can say se—_ "

"NO!" Allen yelped, clapping his hands over his ears. "No no no no _no_!"

He kept his ears covered until the flame stopped wavering so much, and only when he was _sure_ Cross wasn't going to sneak attack him with embarrassing talks did he finally pick up the jar again.

"Are you done."

" _Are **you**?_ "

Allen made a muffled sound of discontent. "You said to call when I could. So.. I'm calling now."

Cross didn't answer that.

"Anyway, um. I'm alive. I'm fine. I guess. Neah's babysitting— er, bodyguarding Harry. Is that the right term, bodyguarding? Or just guarding? I thought they would've wanted their own teachers looking after him."

" _Your uncle's strong,_ " Cross said with a grunt. Allen tried not to make a remark. " _Dumbledore knows that._ "

That was about the nicest thing he'd ever heard Cross say about... anyone, really. Let alone Neah. He'd never even talked about Neah at all until last year. Right before getting them introduced to each other. As you do.

" _How're you holding up?_ "

Allen balked. "..I'm sorry what."

" _What?_ "

"...What?"

" _Stop that._ "

Allen set the jar down carefully and stared at it. First, Cross wanted to _talk to him_ , even asked him to call of his own volition. Then he _said something nice about Neah_. And now he was... asking how Allen was?

" _A **mass murderer** just broke into Hogwarts, kid. That school isn't **supposed** to be easy to break into._ "

"...Yes?"

" _...You should be worried._ "

"... I am... But I'm more worried about whoever Black is trying to kill. I mean, I won't die that easily."

Cross muttered something that sounded like _obnoxiously selfless runt_. Allen took offense to that. He was not a runt.

"But, um.. Neah's protecting him now, so it's probably not worth worrying about. You did say Neah was pretty strong."

" _You'll get there one of these days._ "

"I don't know that I particularly want to."

" _Well, you'll have to. For your own safety. And everyone else's._ "

"That's a lot to put on my shoulders," Allen quipped. "Speaking of! Did Neah tell you his dad came looking for me?"

" _His what._ "

"Neah's dad. Showed up in Hogsmeade asking all the Hogwarts students if they'd seen me." When Cross didn't say anything, Allen went on, like he was expecting something to jog Cross's memory. "You know, my grandfather? The probably dead one? That one in the painting in Mana's house? Isn't he supposed to be dead?"

" _...supposed to be dead..._ " It was soft, but it sounded like Cross was just repeating what Allen had just said. " _...didn't tell... Scotland. He's in... What.. **hell** is he... in Scotland..._ "

"What?" Allen tried shaking the jar. He'd seen Neah do that a few times. "Cross, did you say something? I can't hear you."

" _You know what he looks like, kid?_ " Cross asked. " _Your grandfather. **Mana's** dad, you know what he looks like?_ "

"Uh. Sort of. I have a, um, vague and whimsical memory of it, if I think about it really really hard."

" _Good. If you see him, **do not talk to him**._ "

"..Well he's _dead_ , so I don't really think I could. Talk to him. Or see him. Unless he's a ghost. Is he a ghost?"

" _He's not a ghost, and your classmates have met him. **You** shouldn't._ "

"..Why not?"

" _Why not? Why not— ...Neah hasn't told you._ " Cross let out something like a sigh, if frustrated. " _Of course he hasn't, when has he ever... He should've told you— Does he know?_ "

"Does Neah know that some bloke calling himself my grandfather went around Hogsmeade looking for me? Of course he does. _Dumbledore_ knows, of course Neah would know. What is it that he's supposed to have told me? Why shouldn't I talk to this fake grandfather? Is he with the Vatican Ministry? Is he _not_ Vatican? That's worse, isn't it? What the hell did you and Neah get yourselves into?!"

" _Language,_ " Cross muttered. Allen held back a complaint, because he was sure that Cross had said worse at his age.

"Don't tell me to ask Neah about it," Allen whined. "That sounds like _ask your mom_ , and we already know Neah probably isn't going to tell me."

" _This time, he **has** to tell you, since it, apparently, involves you too. You don't have to tell me you don't want to be involved because, unfortunately, Adam Walker isn't giving you a choice. That's Mana and Neah's adopted father, **your** grandfather. Are you following?_ "

"I—" Allen balked at the sudden change in topic. "Yes. Walker. That's... that was Mana's last name."

" _Mana took that surname a while after they were adopted Neah didn't._ "

"Is this the part where I ask _why not_ or is that something only Neah would—"

" _34 years ago, Neah killed Adam. Just before graduation._ " The words sent chills down Allen's spine. He knew Neah had done some things, but hearing it from Cross really.. put it into perspective. " _He never finished school, and neither did Mana._ "

"Did they... um." Allen swallowed and tried not to look at the door, like Neah could come flying in at any moment. ".. Was it because they got thrown out? I mean, Neah obviously did, right? You can't kill someone and then not get thrown out of school. Or into Azkaban. Did he go to Azkaban? Is that why he's- why he's like that?"

" _No,_ " Cross replied, with no indication as to what he was saying _no_ to. Maybe all of it. " _He's never been brought in. Technically he's still wanted by the Vatican Ministry._ "

" _That's_ why he had to sneak around Vatican City? That's terrible! What if- what if he'd gotten caught or something? He'd get sent to Azkaban, wouldn't he? What would've happened to me? I'd- I'd be sent back to _Rosa Croce_ , I'd be stuck there!"

" _No, you wouldn't, because he won't be sent to Azkaban. He's not wanted for murder, he's wanted because he destroyed school property. Namely, the entire school... Which is why they never graduated._ "

"...Neah killed someone and he isn't wanted for murder? Why not?"

" _13\. He killed 13 someones. I thought you knew all this?_ "

"He killed _13 someones_ and he's not wanted for murder?!" Allen felt like a broken record. "No one told me about that! I knew he'd killed some Dark Wizards but I didn't know _how many_. Why isn't he wanted for murder?!"

" _Because Noah's Accademia was an awful fucking place, **worse** than Rosa Croce. It was getting out of control. The Vatican Ministry wouldn't mourn it even if the world was ending, and they sure as hell didn't want it becoming public knowledge. Adam Walker knew that and he still sent your father and uncle there._ "

Allen was not sure what to say to that. If _his_ dad, adopted or otherwise, sent him to some place like _Rosa Croce_ (or worse than) with full knowledge of what went on in there, he'd feel inclined to murder too.

...Wait that's exactly what Cross did—

" _Whatever happened between him and Neah is between them and them alone. **That's** why you don't talk to him if you see him. You go the other way, you tell me, or you tell Neah, and you **stay out of it**._ " The small flame in the jar flared brighter. " _You might not have a choice in them coming after you, but you don't have to let it happen._ "

"Mana's my dad," Allen said resolutely. "And Neah's my uncle, so.. so that makes it _my_ family matter too, doesn't it?"

" _Kid,_ " Cross said. He sounded tired. " _This is one family matter you don't want to get mixed up in._ "

Allen figured that meant 'no'.

Adam Walker knowingly let his adopted kids enter a hellhole and came out dead for it. Or not dead. Attempts had clearly been made at bringing him to deadness.

And if Allen learned anything about his uncle in little time they'd known each other, it was that Neah did not let things go unfinished. He would not have let Adam go willingly... So if 'Adam' really _was_ still alive, maybe he really should stay out of it.

"But.. Adam is looking for me, isn't he? Sooner or later he'll find me, and by then I won't really be able to.. stay out of it. What am I supposed to do then? What if- _merda_ , what if he wants to kill me?!"

" _Then you **run** , idiot. Run, fly, get yourself back to Hogwarts, **hide** and stay alive. You've got enough shit to worry about._ "

"Yeah," Allen muttered. He didn't like the idea of running away, but the thought of facing a homicidal-and-probably-dead grandfather was also not very appealing. "Like not getting killed by the mass murderer roaming around Hogwarts."

" _I meant not failing your classes, but that too._ "

"I hate you _so much_ I'm going to do my homework now. Bye!"

" _Wait, I need to talk to your uncle—_ "

"He's busy!" Allen said before Cross could ask him to put Neah on. "Out! Bodyguarding! Call again later!"

" _Then tell him to call me—_ "

"Okay I will bye now!"

He quickly snuffed the flame and corked it so that it wouldn't connect even if Cross called back. That was more than enough family bonding for the next few months.

Although this _would_ make it harder for Neah to reach him if he needed to, but... it wasn't like crazy stuff happened _every single day_.

That was what he thought until the door to Neah's empty room creaked open.

Calling Allen back was useless. Nothing happened when he tried to Floo the kid's phial, so Cross figured it was stoppered off or underwater or something. A bit concerning, given what happened there recently.

He took a deep inhale from his cigarette and contacted Neah instead.

" _Yeees, m'dear?_ "

"...You really have to call me that? People can hear you."

" _Yes, Professor Marian?_ "

Oh. Hm.

" _Oh, that sounds horrendous. I'm never using that again._ "

"I think it sounded fine," Cross said in a grunt.

" _Precisely!_ " Wasn't he guarding someone? Some kid? Was he listening to this? " _So, who died this time?_ "

"No one, it's not work-related."

" _Then I **am** work-related, Marian. Busy keeping an eye on kids, looking out for murderers. That sort of thing._ "

"Right, well, I need to talk to you about something."

" _Oh? This is new. Usually I'm the one calling you._ "

Was it? He should fix that.

"It's about Al- the brat. He's been asking."

Cross heard a quiet murmur on the other end. It didn't sound like anyone he recognized. The muffled voice-through-glass was definitely Neah's, though.

" _Go ahead,_ " Neah said. The background was a lot quieter. " _I put up a barrier, no one can hear us._ "

"Sure that's a good idea? You're supposed to be watching him, aren't you?"

" _I am, and I can still hear him enough, don't worry about it. Is Allen asking about Mana already? It's too soon for that._ "

"No, he hasn't brought that up. I'm sure he will eventually, once your shoddy Memory Charm wears off."

" _I don't recall your charms being any better than mine!_ "

Cross let out a grunt and scratched the back of his head, cursing the situation they'd all found themselves in. He took a drink from the bottle of sherry in his hands, the last vestiges of his trip through Spain.

"He's asking about what happened with you and the NOAHs."

" _ **Why** would he ask about that?_ "

"Campbell. Adam's looking for him."

" _...Adam is **dead**._ "

"Tell that to his dopplegänger." Cross took note of Neah's tone. It hadn't changed in all these years, every time he talked about Adam. Quiet, carefully controlled. Cross knew better than to push the matter. "How much does he actually know about the NOAHs?"

" _Isn't that... something **you** should've told him, Marian?_ "

"Is it?" Huh. "Well I never did."

" _Neither have I... What has **Rosa Croce** been teaching them?_ "

"That's not the issue here, Campbell." Cross pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed it wasn't a very tactful way of avoiding the subject, but Neah only hummed without bringing it up again. "You do realize the kid barely knows anything about you."

" _He knows I've killed a bunch of people and I wouldn't harm a hair on his head again. Willingly, anyway. Isn't that about as much as he needs to know?_ "

"That's remarkably restrained of you."

" _Always the tone of surprise! Why would you leave him with me otherwise?_ "

"I happen to trust that you won't kill him anymore, at least," Cross said reluctantly. "You should tell him about the NOAHs, whatever he doesn't already know. About why the Vatican Ministry is out for blood, why your own adopted family wants you dead. Actually, he knows about the last part now. I told him it was because you killed a bunch of their parents."

" _Thank you for doing my work for me. Oh- hang on a minute._ "

Cross let out a sigh. He tapped the ashes from his cigarette holder and raised his head to look around.

The wagon he was in was still ambling along the country roads. The driver seemed to have some experience with magic, seeing as she didn't seem surprised to see him talking to a jar of fire. Her mules were less convinced, nervous and skittish the entire way. Or he thought they were mules, anyway, given the.. scales that he could see.

Luckily Cross wasn't as awful with animals as Neah was, which wasn't very difficult to do. It was mostly just that Neah didn't care to try being less awful.

On both sides of the road were stretches of land dotted with people. Wizards, probably, given how they were planting rows and rows of wheat without Muggle machinery. None of it would go to the _Babbano_ , the non-Magical. Even if there was surplus, it would be stored and preserved, sold when supplies were short. Wizarding farming families grew fat on that sort of business.

Like the Kamelots.

He that eats, lives; and he that holds food, holds lives.. was what Neah said once before. He was probably biased, one way or another.

" _Sorry, Marian._ " The flame flickered a few times when Cross looked at the phial again. " _Hogwarts doesn't usually teach Dark Magic, does it?_ "

"Fairly certain Dumbledore wouldn't have any of that. They do keep a ridiculously huge amount of books on it, though."

" _I thought as much. Potter and his friends are looking up Dark Wizards, apparently for History of Magic._ "

"Really?"

" _I'm sure they made up an excuse to be in there, but it's fine. As long as the books don't eat him, it's none of my concern what they read. You were saying?_ "

"You should look after your charge better, Campbell. Don't get yourself fired." Cross shook his head when Neah laughed, _As if that would ever happen._ "He told me Adam showed up in Hogsmeade. Just as well I didn't sign that permission slip, I was afraid this would happen... I didn't expect the NOAHs to be looking for _him_ , though. Didn't think they even knew about him. Allen isn't even _worth_ anything to them, who would possibly take that much of a risk to find a lost child?"

" _We did cover up his tracks pretty well after the incident. They're rather persistent to still be looking for him._ " Neah gave it another hum. He really liked humming. " _Lulubell is rather well-versed at disguises. She'd have the best chances of getting into Hogsmeade without alerting the Ministry or the dementors. Although I can't imagine why she'd bother._ "

"Unless she's under orders. Is she?"

" _Marian I haven't had bothered with the NOAH Council in at least 3 decades. I have no idea._ "

Cross frowned. "Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on them? They _are_ out to kill you, you know that, right?"

" _Yes? And?_ "

Why did he even bother? "Never mind. Lulubell, then. Probably."

" _Well.. I'm sure all of the Council can do that much Transfiguration to some extent. Any one of them could sneak in with help. I don't think they'd just let one of their executives go in alone._ "

"Mana was good at Transfiguration too, wasn't he?"

Neah went quiet. Cross heard some dull muttering on the other end.

" _... He was. I don't know if he still is, after what happened._ " It was Neah's turn to sigh. " _We should have finished him off when we had the chance. If only..._ "

"Allen was an unexpected variable. But getting him away from there was more important."

" _I know._ "

"..Campbell..."

" _I won't go looking for him, if that's what you're worried about. I'm actually quite busy!_ "

"I was going to remind you to keep Allen away from him. Adam or whoever he really is, whatever they want him for."

" _I know, I know. The Council probably wants what Mana left unfinished. Or they want to use Allen as leverage against the Ministry, _L'ordine Nero_. Or against you. Or me. Either way, we can't have any of that._ "

"Campbell, you're. Dead. Legally dead. We both know Mana believed your little ruse, there's no reason for them to want leverage against you."

" _Not after what we did, he doesn't._ "

"... Do you think he wants to kill you? For what you did?"

" _To him or to Adam?_ " Neah laughed. It was a soft and nostalgic sound, something Cross didn't hear often. Not lately, anyway, on account of being... a few thousand miles apart. " _He doesn't want to kill me. I don't think he ever did._ "

Which was ironic, considering the business Mana found himself back in after Neah faked his death. And it was more than could be said for Neah himself. Cross didn't think he'd ever met anyone more indifferent to murder.

Adam Walker's fault, no doubt.

" _Mana probably thinks he's trying to save me._ " He sounded wistful. In the sort of way one sounded wistful about someone they broke up with, or about the long-forgotten childhood bullies who haven't changed a single bit. Wistful the way one recalled a piece of ill-meant advice. " _Or he just wants me to come back._ "

Cross nursed his cigarette for a moment. "To what end?"

Neah didn't answer him.

" _I have to go,_ " he said. Cross didn't argue with that. " _I'll.. I'll talk to Allen, if you think it'll help._ "

"Are you going to tell him about Mana, too?"

" _Not unless he asks. I don't think he's quite ready for that._ "

Cross was inclined to agree. The kid was still a kid, after all. Though most kids didn't go through as much, and others went through more... Allen was hardy as far as brats went.

"...I think he's ready," he said slowly. "Besides, he won't tell you if something's bothering him, not yet. You've noticed that, haven't you? He doesn't have much trust in adults for the most part."

" _Most of us don't. It's a sad to think about, isn't it?_ "

It was. But that was their nature, after all. Adults made them what they were.

" _Ciao, then. I'll let you know if anything comes up._ "

"Mm. _Ciao_."

The violet-colored flame winked out. Cross drained the last of the sherry and tossed the empty bottle into the garbage end of his Extended briefcase.

/ / / / /

" _Dona,_ " he called out to the driver when she stopped to refresh the beasts. "How far.. _how far is Alentejo_?"

" _Alentejo, senhor_?" The driver pointed to the southwest. " _It is a full day's travel that way, if you keep to this road. You want to go to Alentejo? I would not recommend it._ "

"Hang on- uh." Cross pinched the bridge of his nose again. Learning Portuguese and learning country-dialect Portuguese were two very different things. " _No, not Alentejo. North, please._ "

At least some of the words were still the same. He really should've asked Neah to help him practice more.

" _Something interesting in the north, senhor?_ "

" _Strange things, dona. Do you know about it?_ "

She laughed and said something about ghosts, hauntings, a strange thing in a strange mansion. Cross set the cigarette in his mouth and leaned back against the cushions to listen. It wasn't the best mode of transport, but trains only went so far, and he didn't want to leave behind a recorded manifest of his travels.

Portugal seemed peaceful, based on what the _dona_ was saying. Nothing catastrophically huge, nothing like the escaped murderer in England, the massacres in Sicily and the retaliation throughout Italy. Not to mention everything going on with the Vatican Ministry itself.

" _That is what I know, senhor. But I hear strange things, also._ " The _dona_ leaned against the wagon, her smile good-natured and dimpled. " _Strange things in the north and the south. In the north, they disappear. Men, women, children, the living and the newly dead. Some say el coco takes them. Some say people take them._ "

" _What do you say?_ "

" _I say that the dead walk in the south, in Alentejo. El coco or people, it doesn't matter what took them. They're taken. They die. They come back._ " She taps her ear. " _That is what I hear. That is why I say, do not go south. Do not go to Alentejo._ "

The mules rested for a bit after getting their refreshments. The _dona_ made sure their harnesses were secure and hopped back into her seat.

" _North, is it, senhor?_ "

"Changed my mind," Cross said, hoping she knew at least a little English because he wasn't sure how to say that in Portuguese. "I need to go to Alentejo."

"Then you need to find new driver, and new wagon," she said ruefully, flicking the reigns. The wagon ambled forward. "I will not go south. The dead should not be made to walk. It is disrespectful."

"Mm." Cross tapped his cigarette on the edge of the wagon, knocking off the ashes. He ran a thumb over the buckle of his briefcase. "Pity."

"..I can't believe he bought it."

Harry looked over his shoulder. Campbell was at the end of the shelf of books, surrounded by something that looked a little like fog, or mist, but darker. Whatever it was, it kept any sound inside it from leaking out, which Harry did find really useful.

At least it didn't make his ears buzz like a Muffliato Charm. The buzzing never made much sense to him.

Hermione glanced up briefly from the book she'd brought down. "What did you tell him, Harry?"

"That we were, um. Studying some Dark Wizards for Binns. Homework stuff."

"And it _worked_ ," Ron said, mildly excited.

"I doubt that," Hermione tutted. "I mean, it _is_ what I told Binns, but Binns has about as much memory as a goldfish. I don't think he actually believes we're looking up Dark Wizards, but we have a signed slip, so he can't do anything about it anyway."

"She's approving of us lying to a grown-up," Ron whispered.

"It's not a lie!" Hermione insisted as quietly as she could. "Not really! Look— if the Campbells have ties with the Blacks, and if they aren't like.. like the Weasleys, there's got to be _some_ Dark Magic involved. We know what the Blacks are like. The Campbells could be a whole family of Dark Wizards for all we know."

"I guess we can't ask him, can we?"

"Mate, I think we'd die if we did that."

Harry ducked down over the book Hermione handed him. He couldn't read the title (how did anyone read blackletter script?) but if Hermione picked it out, it was probably harmless enough. Not like the one he grabbed in his first year that... screamed at him.

He spent the next few minutes reading about things that wizards tried to do in the past, some of which succeeded or failed gruesomely. There were things like Disapparating with large animals (sometimes successful, although the risk of splinching increased with size, as was the case with a particularly large water-horse), to trying to eat a dragon egg (scrambling a dragon egg did not have the desired effect).

There were several chapters on raising the dead, but all of it seemed to culminate in mindless abominations. Kind of like zombies, he supposed. Did Hermione really expect the Campbells to have done magic like this?

Ron snorted as he flipped through the pages of his own book, looking like he was having quite the time doing research.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked.

"This one's got weirdest recorded deaths of the Wizarding World, I don't think I've even heard of half of these. Listen to this... trampled by a unicorn, 8 counts... trying to steal dragon eggs, at least 24 counts... electrocuted while studying a newly discovered species of hagfish, what the bloody hell is a hagfish? Trampled by a unicorn _herd_ , oh, that's a separate count. Wow, that's a lot. Fallen off trying to ride a hippogriff, too many to count.." Ron glanced at him. "..Guess you got lucky, Harry."

Harry agreed wordlessly.

"Campbell, Campbell... Is it spelled different, Hermione? One L or two Ls?"

"I.. I expect it's two Ls, but we can't discount printing errors. Why?" Hermione scooted over to peer at Ron's book. "Did you find something?"

"I think this is Camp _hell_ but that might just be a weirdly written B. Harry, is he watching us?"

Harry looked over his shoulder quickly. Campbell looked pretty engrossed in his conversation, from what he could see.

"I don't think so."

"Alright. Here's this... Death by magical explosion, there's an entire page of names. Says here.. Caterina E. Campbell and Cyrus D. Campbell. Unknown cause. They're Scots! But he doesn't look it at all, does he?"

"They probably married in, neither name sounds Scottish," Hermione said quietly. "Siblings, actually. There's no other Campbell in there?"

"Hang on, Hermione, I can't read that fast." Ron swatted her away and ran down the list again. Harry leaned in, practically on the edge of his seat. It felt kind of like spying, what they were doing. "Why don't we just look for the Pure-Blood Directory? It ought to have a list of deaths and such."

"Something like that _exists?_ " Hermione said, aghast. "A directory of every Pure-blood family line?"

"Well, not _every_ Pure-blood family, just whatever the writer thought was 'worthy of writing about'. He certainly didn't consult anyone before writing it. He put the Weasley family on that list! Dad always talked about how _his_ dad went off his rocker when he found out, he was so mad about it."

"Would that be in the Hogwarts library?" Harry looked up the countless bookcases, most of them a dozen shelves high. "How does anyone even find a book here?"

"Very carefully," Hermione said, rueful. "Normally I'd ask if anyone's seen the book before, they'd know where to get it. Madam Pince.. isn't very helpful. And I don't think it would be a good idea to ask her about this sort of book."

"I don't even want to think about _touching_ that sort of book," Ron said while making a face. He flipped a few pages forward boredly. Harry figured he was just enjoying himself now, looking up other weird deaths. "Want to know how many people thought they made a Philosopher's Stone properly?"

"Uh, sure," Harry said. Hermione grimaced like she already knew, and didn't answer. "What is it, like 100 or so?"

"Haha, it's... hang on, this is... Mana D. Campbell?"

"What?" Hermione tried to pull the book over to have a look. "A Campbell tried making the Philosopher's Stone?"

"No, it's under death by unknown magical anomaly." Ron pointed out the line. "Mana D. Campbell and.. I don't even know how to pronounce _that_ name."

"1949... They died in 1949? That doesn't make any sense. Maybe there's other, other siblings. Another brother or something. At least two others, right?"

"We could ask," Harry suggested. "Ask his brother's name, anyway. Then we'd know for sure?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure beats asking if he's a Dark Wizard. Hermione, what do you think? Er... Hermione?"

She was staring at the entry in the book, the dates clearly indicating that the two siblings, probably twins, had been barely 7 when they died. "..I think I've read about this somewhere, but I can't remember where. Unknown magical anomaly, magical explosion... Probably in an old newspaper..."

Hermione copied down the entries and took over looking through the book, relieving Ron of his duties. Ron scooted over to Harry's side instead so they could read about Wizards doing weird and awful things together.

After some time, she clapped the book shut, making them both wince.

"I think that's enough," Hermione said. Clearly she'd gone through it at least once or twice. "You two can keep reading if you like. I'm going to see if I can find that newspaper clipping. Ought to be easier now that I've got a date for it."

"I can help you look," Harry offered.

"I'm going to check out this book," Ron said, holding up the book with the title that Harry could not read. "You know, for _light reading_."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ronald? You actually want to read that?"

"Hey, it's like a whole list of stupid things not to do. I'm going to read it so I don't do them!"

"I hope he doesn't try to eat a dragon egg," Hermione said, watching Ron trot off to Pince with the book.

"After Norbert? I don't think he will..."

Hermione _hmm_ ed and set the other books back in their places on the shelves. "Well.. there is a saying about conquering your fears by eating them."

"Pretty sure he'd rather die than eat a spider. Especially one like Aragog."

She made a gagging noise and stumbled off towards the Reference Section of the library. "Oh, that's awful."

"What's awful?" Ron asked, having returned surprisingly quickly for dealing with the librarian.

"Malfoy," Harry said immediately.

"Oh." Ron made a face. "I, uh, don't want to know."

"Me neither. Let's go find that newspaper?"

They made it as far as catching up with Hermione before Harry felt a shadow looming over him.

"Almost done there, Mister Potter?" It was, of course, Campbell. The glass phial with the little flame was nowhere in sight. "It's almost time for supper."

"Is it? Rats. Hermione! Er." Harry heard the librarian hushing them from the front desk. How did she even hear that? " _Hermione._ It's almost time for supper."

"Oh, you go on first! I want to finish looking first."

"No?" Ron went over to try and pry her away from the shelves. "We're not leaving you here. Who knows what could find you?"

"Well, Black isn't looking for _me_ , is he?" Hermione retorted. She shot an apologetic look at Harry. "Sorry."

"No, you're right," Harry said, because it helped to say it out loud. "But he might.. I don't know, he might come after you to get to me? You know, to draw me out? That sounds like something a Dark Wizard would do."

And that was true too. Because that was what Quirrell had done, in a way, when he found he couldn't get to the Stone himself.

"If you'd like to stay a bit longer, that's fine," Campbell said, plucking a book out of the shelves. Harry held his breath until he realized it wasn't one of the ones they'd been looking at themselves. "Just let me know when you're ready to leave."

Harry almost felt bad making Campbell wait on them. Surely he didn't get to eat until they did, too...

"Um... I guess.. I guess I can look for it tomorrow," Hermione said uncertainly. She started putting back the books she'd been pulling out. "We should have supper first... And we can't keep you out too long, Harry, you've got Quidditch coming up soon. It'd be awful if you got detention for it on match day."

Harry and Ron shared a look, then went about helping her with the books. It didn't take very long, but Hermione was sneaking looks at Campbell every now and then. She didn't look too happy.

"Hey," Harry said as they walked down the corridors. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

"What? No, of course not! Why would you ask that?"

He shot another look at Ron, who tried very hard not to look at Campbell who was behind them.

"You've been giving him the funny eye for a while now," Harry said as quietly as he could.

"I'm just- I'm just worried, Harry. Alright?" Hermione made a big deal huffing about it, but he could tell it was really bothering her. "It's just... what if those weren't.. other siblings? What if- what if it's him and his brother?"

Or maybe she was just really, really tired. She had like, 30 classes per day. Harry had no idea how she even made it to all of them. _Or_ how she managed to do the homework for all of them.

"So, what, they're supposed to be dead?" Ron pitched in. "They faked their deaths? They survived after all and no one knew?"

"Maybe." She pursed her lips together, concentrating on something not in front of them. "I'm sure it's fine. Dumbledore must already know about it, whatever it is."

"If Dumbledore knows and is clearly alright with it, what are we worrying about? He's must have it all under control. I don't think Dumbledore would let anyone dangerous into the castle... I mean, if he knew about them being in the castle."

"I hope so, Harry. I really do."

Neah took a deep breath and knocked on the door to the shared dormitory before opening it.

The smell of food lingered in the air, and the tables were cleared, which told him that Allen must have eaten already. There was, however, a platter still on the table, with a cover over it to keep it warm.

Allen was on the couch in front of the fireplace again. It was lit, but not roaring this time, instead crackling softly like the warble of a stream. He had a book, but it didn't look like he was reading it.

"Have you eaten yet, Allen?"

All he got in reply was a muted sound. Probably a yes.

"I fed your dog, too."

Neah felt himself freeze up. _That was quick_.

Indeed, the black-furred mutt lifted his head and snuffled at Neah from the couch at Allen's other side, which was why Neah hadn't seen him when he walked in.

"Well.. Thanks, for that." Neah wandered over, wondering what he was going to do with the spare food now. He'd already eaten earlier. "Saves me an errand."

"Why are you keeping a dog in your room, anyway? I don't think dogs count as familiars. Are you sure you're taking care of him properly?"

"He's a therapy dog," Neah said, giving Black a wink. The dog huffed at him. "And yes, I am. He's for you, actually. Don't you like dogs?"

"I do but I don't think I ever told you about that..."

"Lucky guess. You seem like a dog sort of kid."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

Neah reached out to ruffle Allen's hair. The dog played its part, vying for attention by pushing his head under Neah's hand. Knowing it was actually an Animagus made it odd, but it made Allen smile, so he gave Black a pat on the nose. He wasn't supposed to be good with animals, anyway.

"I've set him up with a room in the Cube, so he has plenty of space to roam around. It's not particularly freeing, but letting him loose on Hogwarts grounds would be a bit of a bad idea."

"Why?" Allen wrangled with the mutt so that he could boop it on the nose, too, with his non-plant hand. "It's just a dog. And there's Hagrid's dog, Fang, anyway. I doubt anyone could tell the difference between them at a distance."

"My poor nephew... No magical creature is ever _just_ anything." Black shot him a look. "Did you know Miss Granger's cat is part Kneazle?"

"I didn't, no. What's that mean?"

"It means Crookshanks is a _very_ clever cat, and may drop by to play with his friend once in a while. Just to let you know."

The thought of having more company seemed to make him equal parts giddy and horrified. "..Good thing I'm not allergic to anything."

" _Splendid._ " Neah shucked off his outer robes and tossed it onto the coat rack, which reached out to catch it because he missed by a mile. Depth perception was a bitch. "I've already eaten, so if either of you get hungry, you can have whatever's still on the table."

"Even the dog?"

"Yes, even him. Do you want to name him?"

"..Shaggy?"

The dog made a disgruntled noise, looking at the both of them unpleasantly.

"Okay, not Shaggy," Allen laughed. "Uhhmmm how about Cheshire? Because of his teeth. Oh, Shark! He has teeth, he can be Shark."

"I'm going to take away your right to name anything anymore, dear boy."

"No, see, he likes it! He likes Shark. Don't you?" Black pawed at Allen's shoulder to show his approval, probably fearing what else Allen was going to come up with. "Shark it is!"

"Do you even know what a shark is?" Neah asked the dog. Black stared at him, then wagged his tail twice.

"Wow. He's pretty smart, for a dog," Allen remarked innocently.

"He is, isn't he?" Neah gave them both another pat on the head. "Maybe he's part Kneazle too."

'Shark' whined in rebuttal as Allen laughed.

Sirius was surprised at how affectionate and handsy the boy became once his uncle came into the picture.

When he first stepped out of Campbell's room, Allen Walker was altogether the picture of curiosity and suspicion. He treated Sirius like anyone would treat a strange, stray mutt; with careful distance and lot of _how did you get in here? did he kidnap you? did my uncle kidnap you from someone? is he feeding you properly? I can't believe he locked you up in his room all alone and didn't even tell me._

Sirius himself was, well, rather sedate. For a dog. An old dog, he supposed, if one had to factor age into the matter. After a bit of snuffling and head scratching, the house-elves brought food and the Walker boy was adamant on making sure Sirius didn't overeat because _I have no idea what to do if you get sick from eating too much_.

He was an okay kid, as far as kids went. More sensible than Sirius or James had been at that age. Sirius couldn't really see why he even _needed_ a therapy dog, which was all for the better, because he had no idea how to even be one.

When Campbell came in, though, it was like he flipped a switch. There was a smile that looked almost natural, bright and happy, and Campbell actually didn't look constantly amused by everything Sirius said or did. Only some things.

But before he could even start questioning all of it, the boy wanted to name him _Fluffy_. Padfoot was fine, and he'd even have been fine with Snuffles if either of them suggested it, but _Fluffy_? And then _Cheshire_?

If he knew that Campbell was thinking, he would've been right; Sirius did not want to find out what other ghastly names the Walker kid could come up with. He settled for _Shark_ , which was about as good as he was going to get.

And true to that namesake, the kid went about inspecting Sirius' dogteeth (which were, sadly, not in the best of shape, after not being able to brush regularly for the past 10 odd years), wondering what dogs were supposed to eat to take care of their 'chompers'.

Sirius watched Campbell out of the corner of his eye, and found that the man(dog?)handling stopped about the moment Campbell retired to his room. Bit of a strange thing, he noted. Campbell almost never went into his own room, at least in the few days Sirius had been in that thing he called a _Cube_.

"Uncle's not very good with animals," Walker said, scratching behind one ear (quite pleasant, actually, though he'd never admit it). Sirius note that he was only using his right hand again. "He doesn't dislike them— at least I don't think he does. Animals just... they don't like him much."

Sirius considered Crookshanks, who didn't seem particularly frightened of Campbell, but definitely didn't regard him as a normal stranger either.

"I think it's because of what we are. Because of the magic inside us." The scratching slowed and so did Sirius's mind, mulling over those words with a slowly dawning realization. "Neah doesn't try to hide it much though, so... Well, it can't have been comfortable being stuck in his room. Even if he doesn't go in there much."

Walker pulled his feet up onto the couch and wrapped his arms around them. The face he had on now wasn't the same quiet curiosity, or that overly blinding smile. He look like a kid that knew too much for his age.

" _No magical creature is ever **just** anything_ ," the kid repeated, staring at Sirius with one eye. The other was milky and unfocused. Sirius doubted it could see much at all. "So I wonder what _you_ are."

Sirius felt his hackles rising, but stopped himself from bolting off the couch. Whether his instincts wanted to lunge forward or escape from this dorm, he couldn't tell just yet.

"Are you... the Grim?"

...

"Part Grim? Or _a_ Grim? Is it a species or a single creature? It's kind of like a barghest, isn't it? Trelawney wouldn't say when I asked. I mean, how is that an irrelevant question? I just want to know the chances of seeing, like, _multiple_ Grims at the same time. That'd be kind of scary!"

Sirius-Shark let out a mournful _aroo_. He had to agree. That would be very scary.

"What else... I don't know the Scots or English have, but there's _la Bête du Gévaudan_. Maybe a warg... or a cerberus, those are supposed to be _huge_. Do werewolves actually look like wolves?"

Sirius thumped his tail and shook his head. It would've been a lot easier on them all if Remus could turn into an actual wolf. Easier to hide and blend in.

"Hmmmm." Walker scratched his chin and stared at Sirius-Shark for a long time. "...Maybe you are just part Kneazle."

Sirius-Shark barked at him indignantly.

Campbell's door creaked open again, causing both Sirius and the kid to look up. Just like last time, Walker's hand immediately came up to scratch the back of Sirius' neck again.

"Allen," Campbell said. Something changed in few minutes since Sirius saw him last, but he had no idea what. "I had a talk with Marian earlier, and I think there's some things we need to... discuss. Well, things I need to tell you. And, I think, questions you might have."

Walker's hand tightened in Sirius' fur almost uncomfortably, but stopping just short of being painful.

"..Yeah. Okay." The kid nodded, unfolding and straightening his legs out. Sirius thought he looked nervous, but also like he'd been expecting something like that. "..Can Shark stay?"

Sirius felt his ears do a funny thing as he looked between the two of them. The air around Campbell seemed to shrink and darken, the outline of his form blurring like wet paint. It reminded him of the night Campbell found him under the Whomping Willow, a mass of nothing but sentient magic.

The way he looked at Sirius wasn't much different from a particularly benevolent dogcatcher, which did help explain why most animals would be terrified of him.

But then Sirius looked over at the boy, he found the same thing happening to _him_ , too, and then he realized. _Oh. That's what the therapy dog is for._

God help Hogwarts survive _two_ of them in the castle.

"Sure, why not," Campbell said, and everything snapped back into place, crisp and clear as day again. It was even more jarring than a dementor passing by. "It's not like he can tell anyone our secrets, anyway."

Hmmmmm.

Sirius was really starting to second-guess this arrangement.

* * *

end notes: there sure is a lot of talking in this chapter. are you confused yet? because I know I am! and I wrote this! good job, scarlet. real swell plan! i need to shove in some light hearted plot free chapters. this is getting heavy.

the mule: based on la guita xica of catalan origin, a long necked, long legged, mule-dragon hybrid creature. docile if fed.  
el coco: spanish bogeyman. maybe more than spanish?  
caterina vs katerina: artistic liberty. caterina is largely italian in origin while katerina is largely greek.  
the cube: dgm folks it's exactly what you think it is and the story behind it is pretty much exactly what you think it is too. it didn't come up earlier bc i forgot i could do this. i forgot i could just put dgm in hp, even though that's what i've been doing for the past 60,000 words  
sicily/italy: mafia boss toto riina arrested in january of 1993, causing the mafia to retaliate by terrorist bombing major cities in italy and sicily. (is anyone surprised at this? of course i'd include the mafia. i'm obligated to include the mafia.)  
(more notes go here later i'm too sleepy to include any more notes rn)

any weird contradictions are because i have no reading comprehension or memory retention, and will probably iron it out at a later date. the cross being or not being allen's guardian is just ministry differences, and also because i'm dumb and forget my own content. updating months apart is hard.

i WAS going to use the italian word for shark but then i'm a dumbass and forgot it was SQUALO and there's no way i'm putting SQUALO in this fic. there just isn't. i'm done. pls. no squalo. too loud.


End file.
